


A Match Made in Hell

by orphan_account



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: BAMF Allison Argent, BAMF Scott, BAMF Stiles, Banshee Lydia Martin, Biting, Blood Kink, Choking, Evil Peter Hale, Hurt/Comfort, Jennifer Blake POV, Light BDSM, Magic, Peter uses the bad touch, Pre-Slash, Recreational Wolfsbane Use, Restraints, Scent Marking, The Darach - Freeform, beaten up, people obsessed with Derek, people who used to have messed up faces, pre-Sterek - Freeform, revenge makes evil bedfellows
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-24
Updated: 2013-12-08
Packaged: 2017-12-27 11:40:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 28,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/978458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Peter Hale hadn't killed Jennifer Blake at the Nemeton? What if he took her home with him instead, and they teamed up to wreck havoc on all those who crossed them in Beacon Hills?</p><p>Post S3E12, this started out a Jennifer/Peter fic...and ended up turning into a BAMF!Scott fic with pre-Sterek vibes, Stydia BroTP and a Scallisac love triangle thrown in for spice. There's a little bit of everybody in here doing their thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This crack!pairing has been rolling around in my head for ages. I believe Jennifer and Peter could build a long-term relationship on a foundation of hating Derek, having their faces jacked up by others, and being batshit crazy. Are you feeling this? 
> 
> This is officially the only Peter/Jennifer fic I've seen out there, so if this is your crack!pairing, then dive in!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He lifted his claw to dispatch her, high in the air, and she flinched. The end was near for her, and she didn't want to die like this - lying on the ground like an injured animal - she couldn't. Not again.
> 
> “Wait! Just wait!” Jennifer shrieked, before he'd lowered the final blow.
> 
> “What? You have some poignant last words? That's not really a thing I do.” His lips twisted into an amused smirk.
> 
> “No.” She shook her head wildly, as blood ran down her neck in five tiny trails. “I want to help you.”

“Oh, please, please...you saved me once before...” Jennifer crawled on all fours toward the deadened tree stump, ignoring the sharp twigs and jagged rocks that tore at her knees along the way.

None of that pain would matter once she could get to the Nemeton and feel the pull of its rough bark under her fingertips as she caressed its inner core. The only thing that mattered was getting close enough to tap into that sweet burn of healing power that would course through her like a bolt of lightening.

  
Euphoria brewed within her chest, she was so close...

Just as Jennifer's hand reached into the air to bridge the final few inches, five fingers wrapped around her wrist and an acute stab of pain gripped the column of her throat. Fear seized her body harder than the claw that was currently threatening her jugular.

Jennifer flipped onto her back to face her attacker.

Deucalion, she half-expected. She always figured he'd want to make sure he finished the job this time, especially since Kali had failed to do so a lifetime ago.

She might have even anticipated Derek, if he'd had a change of heart.

But Peter Hale?

“Of course it's you.” She laughed at the irony of the situation. All this time, the one person she wasn't worried about, was the very person pulling all of the strings. She shouldn't have dismissed him so easily. “Everyone else suffers, but somehow, you come out on top. And now that Scott's an alpha, you'll be able to steal it from him. You'll be an alpha again.”

  
Peter's features darkened as he looked down on her writhing form. “Again? Again?! I am the alpha. I've always been the alpha!”  
  


He lifted his claw to dispatch her, high in the air, and she flinched. The end was near for her, and she didn't want to die like this - lying on the ground like an injured animal - she couldn't. Not again.

“Wait! Just wait!” Jennifer shrieked, before he'd lowered the final blow.

  
“What? You have some poignant last words? That's not really a thing I do.” His lips twisted into an amused smirk.  
  


“No.” She shook her head wildly, as blood ran down her neck in five tiny trails. “I want to help you.”  
  


Peter laughed cruelly at her blatant attempt to stall her own death. “You don't look like you're in a position to help anybody.”  
  


“I could be!” she insisted. “You heard what I did to Kali. Let me do that for you! If you'd just allow me to touch the Nemeton and heal, I can help you beat Scott.”  
  


He paused, considering her offer. “Why would I need your help? Scott is just a kid.”

  
"Wrong!" She shook her head again, making herself dizzy with the force. “Scott is an alpha, now. A _true_ alpha. And you're just a beta...and a weakened one at that. What chance do you have to steal his powers when he has your nephew and an entire pack backing him up?”  
  
Peter slowly lowered his hand halfway. “What's in it for you...other than the obvious?”  
  
Jennifer's eyes narrowed, and her vision exploded with a colorful rage. “Derek.”  
  
“Seriously?” Peter rolled his eyes hard. "You can't still be trying to break off a piece of that? Honey, he's just not that into you."  
  
“Oh, I want a piece of him alright, just not in the way you think.” Jennifer snapped, as her gaze drifted off into the distance, scanning the peaks and shadows of the barren landscape illuminated by the moonlight. “Derek left me. I loved him and I thought he loved me too. But he left me, just like everybody else.” She turned her head to look at Peter, and a tiny smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “And just like everybody else I loved who crossed me, he's going to pay.”  
  
Peter's arm now rested comfortably at his side. “He's really not worth the trouble. He's not an alpha anymore, and he's not even in town at the moment.”  
  
“I don't care. Wherever he's run off to doesn't matter, because when I exact my revenge on Derek, I'm going to make sure that he feels it where he lives.”  
  
“A woman scorned...” Peter licked his lips in anticipation. “Now, that's something I might be able to work with.”  

 

 

 

 

Stop by and say hi on Tumblr: [Happily Shanghaied](http://happilyshaghaied.tumblr.com)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Intrigued yet?


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After spiking her wine, Peter slid the goblet across the bar to the other side and raised his drink to toast her. “To new beginnings.”
> 
> “I'm sick of new beginnings,” she said miserably as she palmed her glass, swirling the wine in circles to air it out.
> 
> “Okay. Then how about this?” He leaned over the bar until they were less than a foot apart. “To getting back everything that once belonged to us, and taking everything that currently belongs to them?”

Jennifer followed Peter into the well-appointed foyer of his one bedroom apartment and slowed to a stop. She watched with cautious curiosity as he unloaded the keys and wallet from his front jeans pocket and placed them into the gilded bowl sitting atop his hallway console.

 

It was weird, having no place to go, nowhere to call home. Her life had been that way for almost a decade, and then it hadn't. After a few months of stability though, it felt wrong to have everything just uprooted.

 

Of course, she was the one who loosened the soil, so she had nobody to blame but herself.

 

And now she was here – with the undead uncle of the man she'd been in love with since he'd given her a second shot at life – and it should have been more uncomfortable than it was. Then again, her baseline for normalcy was pretty jacked up to begin with.

 

“I didn't expect...it's nice.” Jennifer's fingers twisted in her hands, for a lack of anything else to do with them.

 

Peter's apartment was located Downtown, by the docks in the Waterfront District. What had once been a crime-ridden hellhole, was now a trendy hotbed for gaming developers - decked out in ironic t-shirts and black-rimmed glasses - and and the artsy vegans who loved them.

 

From the outside, the building didn't look like much, but with its exposed brick walls and vaulted ceilings, the architecture inside was breathtaking.

 

Peter looked over his shoulder at her and snorted. “You didn't expect my place to be nice? Look at me, Jennifer.” He turned around fully and gestured to his toned physique. “Not sure what kind of impression Derek gave you, but not all of the Hales are comfortable living in squalor.”

 

Jennifer's eyes traveled the length of his torso, stopping just above his crotch, and her mouth went dry. For a werewolf zombie of indeterminable age, Peter Hale wasn't exactly hard on the eyes.

 

She watched intently as Peter's index finger traced the collar of his dangerously low V-neck, and then shook the material straight at the shoulder seams.

 

“We're still using Jennifer, right...or is there some other 'J' nom de plume that you've got your eye on now?” He cocked an inquisitive eyebrow at her.

 

“I actually hadn't thought about it. I hadn't thought about much beyond not getting my throat slit.”

 

She cleared a frog from her chest, but still felt like she was choking. The clumpy dust she'd inhaled from the root bed of the Nemeton still coated the inside of her mouth like a spoonful of castor oil mixed with gravel.

 

“I didn't exactly have a contingency plan. I was kind of 'all in', as they say. I guess I figured I'd either be sipping Mai Thais on a tropical beach somewhere with Derek, or I'd be dead.”

 

“Maybe it's for the best, Derek doesn't have the skin for direct sunlight. Plus, he's more of a domestic beer kind of guy, anyway,” Peter said, amusing himself with an inside joke that only he was privy to.

 

“I would have kept him inside most of the time anyway.” Jennifer rubbed her forehead with the knuckles of her right hand.

 

Peter chuckled, then gestured toward the living room with a dramatic, sweeping arm movement. “Je vous présente le salon?”

 

“You speak French?”

 

Of course Peter Hale spoke French. It would actually be stranger if he didn't.

 

“Uh, yeah...” He shot her an incredulous look. “I'm not a farmer.”

 

Jennifer exploded in laughter, feeling lighter than she had since the moment Derek turned on her in lieu of helping his friend. “Really? That's not what Derek said. He told me you all used to plant all sorts of food on your land.”

 

“Nope,” he responded, popping the last consonant. “That would strictly be my sister, Talia. She was an early adopter of the Locavore movement. She thought processed foods were 'poisoning our youth' and that we were too inactive compared with the werewolves of yore.”

 

“Sounds reasonable," she said with a shrug. "I always used to push my students to be more active.”

 

“True, but werewolves are practically bionic. Even without all of the pesticide-free foods and nightly pack runs, we all would have easily lived past 100.” Peter shuffled his feet in front of him and focused hard on the wooden floor. “All that healthy eating and exercise and she still died before reaching 40.”

 

“Oh,” her brows bunched in thought. “Is that why Derek is always working out so much? Because of his mom?”

 

Peter shifted his weight, drawing her eyes toward the tight stretch of denim, clinging lovingly to his strong thighs.

 

“No. That would be because of his sexual frustration." His eyes lit up with amusement. "As you've no doubt noticed, my nephew is quite an accomplished gym rat.”

 

He brushed past her, leading the way into the open-plan kitchen.

 

“You two are very different,” she mused, following closely behind.

 

Peter pulled out a cushioned stool tucked halfway under the breakfast bar and offered her the seat. “We used to be very close once.”

 

“Really?” Her mouth screwed to the side in a tight knot as she sank into the buttery, mahogany leather.

 

“You don't believe me.” An enigmatic smile touch his lips for a moment and then evaporated as he ducked down to retrieve a bottle of red from his wine fridge.

 

“Would you respect me if I did?” Jennifer's head tilted to the side to get a more direct view of his ass. She figured there was no harm in just taking a little peek. 

 

His head jerked up at her question, but he left it unanswered. “You drink?”

 

"And how." She grinned, then shook her head with confusion. “Wait - you drink?”

 

“Jenny, I am a connoisseur of the finer things in life. One does not merely drink to get drunk.” Peter pulled two Riedel, crystal wine glasses from the ceiling-mounted rack above, and placed them on the bar in front of her.

 

“That said...” Ducking down to pull another bottle from the fridge, Peter emerged with a silver, bullet-shaped flask, unscrewed it, and topped up his glass of wine with a blue-tinged liquid. “It never hurts.”

 

“Wolfsbane liquor, huh?”

 

“Today was quite eventful. I think we've earned it, don't you?” He hovered the flask over the mouth of her glass and look to her for the signal.

 

Jennifer shrugged and he began to pour.

 

As much as it pained her to admit it, she had nothing important to wake up for in the morning...no boyfriend, no job, not even a single living friend. She may as well get her drink on.

 

After spiking her wine, Peter slid the goblet across the bar to the other side and raised his drink to toast her. “To new beginnings.”

 

“I'm sick of new beginnings,” she said miserably as she palmed her glass, swirling the wine in circles to air it out.

 

“Okay. Then how about this?” He leaned over the bar until they were less than a foot apart. “To getting back everything that once belonged to us, and taking everything that currently belongs to them?”

 

Jennifer clinked her glass against his, and then took down half the wine in one gulp. A hot rush of nirvana licked at her nerve endings before the drink even reached her stomach. “Has anybody ever told you that you have all of the markings of a sociopath?”

 

“...says the woman who ritually sacrificed nine innocent people without batting an eye.” He took a sip of wine into his mouth and rolled it around on his tongue before swallowing. “You can call me names if it makes you feel better, my darling Darach, but we're two of a kind."

 

Her chest tightened at the defensive blow. “I was exacting justice.”

 

“So was I.”

 

“They almost killed me. I was left for dead.”

 

“Again - so was I.” His cold, blue eyes leveled her like an avalanche. “You wanted to get your face back, you wanted _him_. Let's not pretend you did it for some kind of noble reason.”

 

Jennifer's hand tightened on the glass. “I had other reasons.”

 

“And I'm sure they were real doozies.”

 

“What about that reign of terror you unleashed during your short tenure as the Beacon Hills alpha?" she asked, through a tight pout. "I assume you had good reasons for that?”

 

“I had the best reasons.” Peter's eyebrows kissed his hairline for emphasis. “I wasn't killing just for sport. I'm not a psychopath.”

 

“No. Not a psychopath,” she grinned, “You're a sociopath.”

 

Rather than being offended, Peter's interest appeared piqued. “How so?”

 

“No way." Jennifer shook her head. "It's only been a couple of hours since you had a claw around my throat. I don't have a death wish.”

 

“I want you to be honest with me.” He swished around the glass in his hand, admiring the long 'legs' of red wine as they slowly crept their way down the sides of the glass. “Honestly is a rare commodity in today's world, wouldn't you say?”

 

She hated herself for agreeing with him.

 

“If you're sure...then okay.” Jennifer struggled for a moment to find her footing under the heat of Peter's expectant glare. “You're charming.”

 

“If that's a crime, then lock me up.” Peter held up his crossed wrists and then took another sip of wine.

 

“That wasn't a compliment.” Her eyes flicked to his to gauge his reaction. “You have a disproportionate sense of entitlement, you manipulate people, and you're easily able to slip in and out of different personas. It's the textbook definition of a sociopath.”

 

Unaffected, he waved her on with one hand as he topped up her glass with the other. “This is getting good, please continue.”

 

She gulped down her liquid courage and continued. “You show no remorse or empathy.”

 

Peter smiled knowingly at her as he walked around the bar to close the distance between them. “I let you live, didn't I?”

 

Jennifer's breath caught in her chest, as she felt his fingers skim over one of her knees on their way to rest on the countertop. “Not because you felt sorry for me.”

 

“You don't strike me as the kind of woman who would appreciate people feeling sorry for her.” His fingertips grazed the skin on her other knee – this time on purpose – and a shudder ran through her.

 

Showing fear around Peter would be as foolish as throwing chum into shark-infested waters while swimming in the ocean. So she pushed on, instead. “There is absolutely nothing you have any attachment to.”

 

He tipped his head left to right in thought. “Not true. I'm quite attached to the idea of regaining my alpha powers.”

 

“Look at you, with an answer for everything,” she drawled, surprised by the fondness of her tone.

 

“When you're a werewolf living in secret, it helps to have answers at the ready. There are always people sniffing around, trying to prove something, attempting to poke holes in your veneer.” Peter pushed her knees apart and settled his weight in the warm gap between her thighs. “I like to keep all of my holes plugged.”

 

Her mouth dropped open and all of the air from her lungs hissed slowly out.

 

Though Jennifer had considered seducing Peter to save her own life, this wasn't her handiwork. She was still too weak from Deucalion's attack to trick Peter into desiring her. This had to be real. He was actually hitting on her without the aid of magic. She hoped.

 

A broad smile swept over her face despite her better judgment. “You're nothing like Derek at all, are you?”

 

“Hmm...I don't know.” Peter's fingers traced vendetta spirals on the tops of each of her knees. “We're alike in one way.”

 

Her voice was as shy as a schoolgirl's. “Which way is that?”

 

His fingers trailed up her thighs, then the outside of her arms, circling around her shoulders and skimming her collarbone until they lightly dusted the sides of her strong jaw, leaving burning sensation in their wake. “We both have a good eye for beautiful things.”

 

Remembering what her true face looked like, the bile rose in Jennifer's throat and she recoiled away from Peter. “I'm not pretty.”

 

"Sure you are." Peter's fingers gripped the edge of her chin and forcefully turned her head back to face him. “You're gorgeous.”

 

She shrunk away, embarrassed. This was the last thing she wanted to explain right now. 

 

“Not really. I just appear pretty. Underneath this face, this illusion, I'm a monster.”

 

Peter leaned forward until his lips were a hair's breath away from hers, and whispered. “Underneath the illusion, we're all monsters...those of us who are interesting, at least.”

 

With each hit of Peter's warm breath against her lips, Jennifer's insides grew softer and more pliant. “Not like me. My face...it's a miracle I'm not dead.”

 

“I was dead.”

 

“But you were never ugly.” Her eyes began to glisten, though she willed the tears away.

 

Peter's hand slowly caressed her features as he spoke. “I had over 70% of my body burned in a house fire. It took me six years in a virtual purgatory to heal.”

 

“But you look...”

 

“Devastatingly handsome?” He angled his head, catching the light in just the right way to highlight the beautiful planes and shadows of his patrician bone structure. “My point is, I'm sure we can find a way for this...” he gestured in a circle around her face, “to remain permanent.”

 

Her eyes grew wide. “Why?”

 

"Don't you mean 'how'?"

 

She shook her head. "No. Why? Why are you offering to do this for me?"

 

“You're helping me now, we have a common enemy. If we're going to make this partnership work, there has to be something in it for you. You can't just be helping me out of fear.”

 

“Fear?” Jennifer choked back a laugh. “I could probably take this entire building down around us with a flick of my wrist, once I get my strength back. I'm here because I want to be, though I wouldn't say no to a pretty face.”

 

“That makes two of us.” Peter leaned into her space again and pulled his wine glass toward him.

 

“Speaking of which, how would you suggest we approach this whole Scott operation?”

 

She pressed her fingers to her breastbone in surprise. “I got the impression that you were running the show.”

 

“Oh, I am, but a good general always listens to his troops.”

 

“Well, I watched him break through a circle of mountain ash, so we may want to approach this delicately if we don't want to be – you know – horribly killed.” She barked out a humorless laugh, startling his hand from her leg for a brief moment. “I've never come into contact with a true alpha before, so I'm not sure what they're capable of. I've heard the rumors, of course...”

 

“Yeah, me too.” Peter stroked his goatee and gazed off in the direction of his bare brick wall. “Maybe we should work backward. How does one become a true alpha?”

 

“Through the strength of their own character?”

 

“That's right.” Peter groaned, then tipped up to face her with a grin spreading from ear to ear, like a jack-o-lantern. “What's the one thing we can always count on Scott McCall to do?

 

"Fail a pop quiz on any Hemingway novel?"

 

"Besides that." Peter pinched her thigh playfully and she sucked in a breath. "We can count on Scott to always do the right thing. He's nauseatingly moral.”

 

Jennifer's brows knit together. “Meaning?”

 

“We create an ethical dilemma for him. One with grave consequences if he chooses the wrong path...and by _wrong_ , I mean right.”

 

“How grave?” Jennifer's heartbeat began to pick up speed.

 

Peter's smile grew impossibly larger. “The gravest.”

 

Adrenaline surged and flooded Jennifer's veins, clouding her mind with needs and wants she never knew she had. People were going to die, and where there was death, there was life--for the Nemeton - and for her. “You want to kill somebody he loves.”

 

“No. I want to make _him_ kill somebody he loves, in order to prevent something even more tragic from happening, of course. He always did love to play the hero.” The words dripped from Peter's pouty lips like venom. “If he becomes more powerful by making the right choices, it would stand to reason that making the wrong ones could make him--”

 

“Weaker,” Jennifer interjected. Her body was humming with desire now. She needed so much of everything, that she wasn't sure where to start or how she would get there. 

 

Even a car needed to have some petrol in its tank in order to drive to the gas station for a fill up. The trouble was, she had nothing in reserve. Simply keeping herself alive had drained it all away. She was starting at zero.

 

Blood. She needed more blood for the Nemeton to build herself back up. Maybe Peter's plan could benefit them both?

 

“Scott will have to choose between his supernatural and his emotional well-being. Either way, he walks out of this a weaker man.” Peter leaned into her personal space to grab the flask pf wolfsbane liquor from the other side of the bar. “And that's when we strike.” 

 

“Okay, yeah. One thing though, how can you be so sure he'll do the right thing?” Jennifer pushed her empty glass forward an inch to get Peter's attention.

 

“I made him. I know the way he thinks.” Peter took a swig of wolfsbane directly from the flask, tipping his head back in the process, exposing the graceful line of his neck.

 

A pang of carnal hunger stabbed Jennifer in the gut. She would never be beautiful again without magic. She felt low. Rejected. Unwanted. Overlooked.

 

Peter was the only man who had showed any interest in her. The only one who didn't require a romance spell, at least.

 

He lowered his chin and the weight of his gaze cut through her like a laser beam.

 

“I may not be his alpha anymore, but we're still connected. I can still feel him.”

 

She fleetingly wondered how nice it might be if he could feel her too.

 

Just then, a look of amusement passed over Peter's features.

 

“What?” She licked her lips, before taking the flask from his hand and drawing a sip.

 

“You were once an emissary, so you must know that werewolves can smell--”

 

Jennifer coughed, loud and hard over the end of his sentence. “I'm – we – we should probably discuss sleeping arrangements. I wouldn't want you to get any ideas about us. This is just business.”

 

Peter arched his brow at her. “Not that I was even offering, but...your loss.”

 

“Trust me - not what I'm after.”

 

However, it was all she could think about now that he brought it up.

 

Peter pointed to the door just across the room from them. “That's the bedroom. You can take it.”

 

“I can't take your bedroom,” she said, cursing herself inwardly for imagining Peter nude, stretched out on the mattress like a freshly-woken cat. “The couch is fine for me.”

 

“I don't let attractive woman sleep on my couch. That's not the way it works here.” He waited a beat too long for her to come to an interesting conclusion, and then shattered all hope. "I'll take the couch."

 

The corners of her mouth quirked upward. Sure, her face was a total farce and he wasn't planning on banging her, but it was still nice to get a compliment. He did call her attractive. “Thank you.”

 

Peter's thumb brushed softly against Jennifer's cheek bone as he tucked a few of her loose hairs behind her ear. “I'm going to take a shower, wash the the day out of my hair. You'll be okay out here alone?”

 

Turning her head to avoid the uncomfortable moment, Jennifer pressed the rim of her empty wine glass to her lips for distraction. “I'm surprised you trust me in your place alone.”

 

“Who said I trusted you?” He pulled away with a wink and stalked toward the bathroom door. “Feel free to help yourself to anything while you're here. Mi casa es su casa.”

 

His last word was cut off by the sound of the bathroom door slamming shut.

 

 

 

 

Stop by and say hi on Tumblr: [Happily Shanghaied](http://happilyshaghaied.tumblr.com)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You certainly risked a lot for your friend though, didn't you? You're human and fragile, you could have been killed.” Peter gasped dramatically as his eyes widened with faux concern.
> 
> “I may be human, but I'm not fragile.” Stiles exhaled a steady stream of air through pursed lips. “Either way, my father always taught me never to leave a man behind, and all that...”
> 
> “Derek's not a man. I think sometimes you kids have trouble remembering that. Derek is a wolf, he's a predator. The human part of him may be your friend, Stiles, but rest assured, the wolf would tear you apart at any provocation. There is no controlling it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings at the bottom of the chapter.

Jennifer watched from behind an ancient Fir tree as Stiles struggled with the six foot stunner he was currently failing to load onto the roof of his Jeep.

“Need a hand?” Peter offered, appearing out of the ether.

Stiles leaned the bundled Christmas tree against the side of his car and exhaled roughly. “Yeah, I know where those hands have been, so I'm gonna have to pass.” He brushed his nose against the shoulder of his flannel jacket with a sniff, then leveled Peter with an unimpressed glare.

Letting the insult roll off his back, Peter chuckled musically. “Then you know how helpful they can be.” 

He lifted his arms and wiggled his fingers with animated pizazz and ventured a small step forward.

“Woah, that's far enough, dude.” Stiles held his palm out in front of him to halt Peter's advance as his face crumpled with bitter humor. “You're really going with 'helpful'? I'm sure there are at least five people I know who would disagree with that statement, like, completely. We could always ask your former nurse her opinion...”

"I’ve changed, or don’t you remember?" Peter’s mouth slid into a pout before stealing another inch of ground. "I fought next to you when we battled the alpha twins in the hospital, isn’t that worth something?"

"Pretty sure you ran off like a bitch at the first sign of trouble, too." Stiles carded through the various pieces of jagged metal on his hefty keychain until he found the one belonging to his Jeep. With a shaky hand, he slipped the key into the lock.

"You stayed behind though, didn’t you?" Peter’s smarmy grin crept across his face slowly, like a deranged inchworm.

Stiles's hand paused on the door, the pale skin stretched across his knuckles turning whiter with the tightness of his grip. "That’s right." He flexed his fingers and turned his back to the door. His amber eyes burned with defiance under the heat of Peter’s predatory gaze. "I don’t bail on my friends when they’re in trouble...unlike some people."

"Your friends?” Peter tilted his head to the side as if trying to gain a hidden meaning from Stiles's words. “There was only one person left there that night, and I’m pretty sure he was probably better equipped to protect himself than you were…" 

“How would you know? You left.” He casually crossed his legs at the ankles and played with his keyring, as if he were chatting with his next door neighbor and not a certifiably insane were-zombie.

A sick feeling gurgled up from deep within Jennifer's gut. She hadn't wanted to leave Derek in the hospital, but he was just being so difficult. If he had only seen how good they could've been together, if he'd only believed her over Stiles and Scott, she would have brought him with her. She might have even been successful against Deucalion, had he come willingly instead of by coercion.

She had a lot of regrets about that night, but double-crossing Derek may have been her biggest.

Wrapping an arm around the trunk of the cover tree for support, Jennifer dug her strong fingers into the rough bark as she leaned perilously more into view to get a better look.

_Where is Peter going with this?_

Stiles continued to toss the set of keys from one hand to the other as he huffed his bemusement. “Considering I found the big guy passed out on the cold floor of the elevator, one might disagree with your assessment on that one, buddy.”

“You certainly risked a lot for your friend though, didn't you? You're human and fragile, you could have been killed.” Peter gasped dramatically as his eyes widened with faux concern. 

“I may be human, but I'm not fragile.” Stiles exhaled a steady stream of air through pursed lips. “Either way, my father always taught me never to leave a man behind, and all that...” 

“Derek's not a man. I think sometimes you kids have trouble remembering that. Derek is a wolf, he's a predator. The human part of him may be your friend, Stiles, but rest assured, the wolf would tear you apart at any provocation. There is no controlling it.”

“Like your 'wolf' tore apart his sister Laura?” Stiles shot back with a sad, lopsided smile. 

Peter's face dropped at his niece's name and his eyes reflected a genuine remorse. “Exactly.”

“No. He can be kind of a douchebag, but he'd never hurt people he cared about.” Stiles shook his head at the ground. “Derek believed me over that psycho who tricked him into boning her. He risked everything to help my dad and Mrs. McCall when he doesn't even like me. He has control. Ever think that maybe your 'wolf' is just fucked in the head?”

A strangled noise died in Jennifer's throat at Stiles's derision of her relationship with Derek. Sure, she held off approaching Derek until she'd sacrificed the virgins to the Nemeton, but that wasn't manipulation, per se. 

_It takes a lot of power to maintain this face. He would never have given me a second look, if he saw the real me._

Peter stared at him in disbelief. “You're so sure he wouldn't hurt you? You just said that he doesn't like you.”

_Oh, I see where this is going..._

Stiles stifled a puff of laughter. “I don't think he likes anybody, man, so I don't really take it personally.” He kicked a block of packed snow like a soccer ball, spraying it all over Peter's expensive-looking boots with satisfaction. “Oops.”

Peter looked blankly at his wet footwear and shook the snow from his feet. Without warning, he lunged forward and bridged the gap between them, caging the younger man in with both of his hands. "That wasn't very friendly, Stiles. I thought we were making progress?"

Instead of flinching at the show of aggression, the edges of Stiles's mouth curled upward like the dog-eared pages of a treasured book. “I really need to get this tree home to dad, so maybe you can grab the bottom half? I mean, if you're going to insist on hanging around where you're not wanted, you may as well have the decency to make yourself useful.”

“Is that what you do?” Peter bit out sharply. "Make yourself useful?"

Jennifer noticed the pink flush spreading down Stiles's throat.

With a sincerity that was almost heartbreaking, the younger man shrugged. “Always.” 

She shouldn't have been surprised, knowing better than anybody how deceptive looks can be. Having already seen Stiles in action on several occasions, she knew he not only had full sway over his best friend, but was uncommonly brave – stupidly so, considering his distinct lack of supernatural ability – but that was what was fascinating about him. Anybody could walk through a blind trial of fire if they had the ability to heal, he was the only one she'd ever seen do it without a safety net.

_Who would have suspected there were so many layers underneath all that plaid?_

Stiles tried to dodge Peter's hold, but was stopped cold with an arm to the throat. 

“No offense, dude, but you're not really my type.” 

“Your scent tells me otherwise,” Peter murmured into the shell of Stiles's ear.

“Bullshit.” The teen struggled fruitlessly against Peter's grip. “What the fuck is your problem, Peter? Can't find anybody your own size to pick on?”

“My problem? Oh...I don't know...” Peter nosed his way down the crease behind Stiles's ear and sighed into the curve of the boy's neck. “Maybe my life lacks a certain...spark?” 

Peter's eyes glowed blue and his free hand grabbed the underside of Stiles's jaw. 

From behind the tree, Jennifer watched in horror as Stiles attempted to escape her partner-in-crime's relentless touch. She didn't dare to move, even though an ember of guilt began to fester in the center of her chest. She may be a murderer, but she was no rapist.

_Except for that one time you used magic to get Derek into bed, Jennifer. You're no different than Peter. He's just more shameless about it._

The wind picked up as Jennifer's mood began to shift. It was only when Peter slowly tugged at zipper on Stiles's jacket and began to scent the hollow of his neck, that the fierce burning in her chest exploded, shooting out of her in an electric shock of light. 

A bolt of lightning tore through the sky and struck the trunk of Stiles's Christmas tree, setting it on fire. Without parting, both men dove headfirst into the nearest snow bank for cover.

“That's enough!” she shouted, without even realizing her lips were moving. “Enough.”

Jennifer stepped out from behind the treeline and waved her hand in the direction of the fire, putting it out with an angry hiss. 

Peter lifted his head – then noticed her standing in the center of a swirling vortex of dead leaves and twigs – and rolled his eyes at her. “I love a dramatic entrance as much as the next guy, Jenny, but this wasn't exactly on the day's manifest.”

Stiles spat out a mouthful of snow with a hacking cough, then followed Peter's gaze to where Jennifer stood. “Oh, fuck my life,” he groaned, flopping backward into the snow with a pained scowl.

“What the hell was that?” she hissed at Peter and then gestured between him and her former student. “Are you trying to get the sheriff's attention?”

Peter shrugged and pushed himself up to stand. “I'm not allowed to have fun?”

“Molesting kids is 'fun' to you?” She scowled. 

“I was scenting him, not molesting him, darling.” He waved his hand dismissively in the air and then proceeded to dust himself off. “And he's barely a kid. In five months he'll be 18, so would it really be that 'illegal'?” 

“YES!” a voice called out from beneath the snow. “And dude! Why do you know my birthday? Why are you so creepy?”

Peter coughed on the plumes of back smoke coming from the burnt out tree and gestured to it with his handkerchief. “Impressive.”

Jennifer crossed her arms and forced herself not to feel sorry for Stiles. It was his choice to get involved with this. If he hadn't been such a persistent pain in the ass, they wouldn't have to use him as bait. “Are you going to tie him up or should I?”

“I'm being kidnapped again?” Stiles sat up again and punched the ground with force. “God dammit!”

Peter tilted his head toward Stiles with a fond look. “Take it as a compliment.”

“No,” Stiles's head dropped forward, shaking ruefully. He lifted his hand, which now gripped the handle of a .38 special, and aimed it at Peter's chest. “I don't think I will.”

Before Jennifer had a chance to intervene, Stiles pulled the trigger at close range.

 

 

 

 

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- reference to a past dub-con encounter 
> 
> I know this is a big point of contention with Dennifer lovers, but IMO, at the very least, Jennifer hid her true identity from Derek. Even if you don't believe magic was used (I do), can we all agree he would never have touched her if he knew she was really the Darach? He did dump her immediately after he found out, so one can only assume he didn't have a yen for mass-murderers...
> 
> \- unwelcome touching
> 
>  
> 
> Hit me up with your thoughts if you have the time!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Allison leaned over and picked up a tree branch, which she began to whittle in earnest. "Isaac's sweet and gentle."
> 
> "Is he 'gentle' in the sack, too?" Lydia made a sour face and stuck her tongue out. "He makes Scott McCall look like Steve McQueen."
> 
> Allison's knife paused on the branch, nearly slicing it in half. "It's just...uncomplicated. Isaac is uncomplicated, which is what I need right now."
> 
> “Bullshit!” Lydia coughed, then examined her manicure. "Life's too short for uncomplicated men, Allison, though Scott's not exactly Henry Miller."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Triggers listed at the end.  
> Still beta-free, so please be kind :)

Lydia looked down at her shoes with grave disappointment. She was standing in a puddle of melted snow and the icy cold water was about to breach the seams of her unweatherized boots. “Why are we here again?”

Riding high on Isaac's back, Allison shouted into the sky with a raised fist. “One of these days I'm going to spring a pop quiz on you, just to make sure you're listening to me.”

Isaac stopped short at the puddle and carefully put Allison down on dry land.

“As if I'd fail a quiz,” Lydia said, with an exaggerated eye roll, her face incredulous. “I listen to you. Sometimes. Anyway, I'm not blind, it's obvious we're here to buy a Christmas tree. I'm just surprised your dad doesn't, like, hike up into the mountains and rip one out of the ground by its roots with his bare hands.”

Allison leapt over the puddle and pulled her friend onto dry land. “Don't be silly. He always brings an ax for stuff like that. Callouses.” She ginned, holding up a pair of mittened hands.

“Oh.” Lydia's face reflected a faux disappointment. “That kind of takes away a little bit of his DILFiness, but not much.”

“Ugh, Gross!” Allison buried her face into Isaac's shoulder with disgust.

“I could rip a tree out of the ground with my bare hands.” Aiden offered Lydia a shy smile, which she returned in kind.

“I'm sure you could.” She looked his physique up and down with approval, and then looped her arm through his and walked him in the direction of the tree line. “You can start with that large one over in the corner. I always did want to have a living Christmas tree in my house.”

Aiden's face fell. “Baby, I was just jo--”

“I want a living Christmas tree, Aiden! I thought you wanted to make me happy?” She pinned him with an expectant look.

With a loud sigh, Aiden relented, rolling his neck across his shoulders as he appraised the landscape in front of him. “You're a pain in the ass, Lydia Martin. You know that right?”

Lydia sidled up to Aiden and wrapped her arms around his waist. “But it's such a nice ass. So get hopping.” She slapped him playfully on the behind and he goosed her back.

“I'm surprised your parents are letting you do this.” Allison pulled a large hunting knife from her boot and checked her reflection in the blade. “Don't they usually have decorators take care of it?”

“This one's for my pool house. Speaking of which...” Lydia nudged Aiden in the direction of the forest. “Sometime before December 26th would be nice.”

“My Christmas gift had better be good, Lydia.” He narrowed his eyes at her in warning, which immediately sent her into a giggle fit. “How is it you're a foot shorter than me and half my weight, yet you emasculate like a man twice your size?”

Lydia stood on her tip-toes to reach Aiden's mouth and planted a passionate kiss on his lips. “Feeling less emasculated now?”

He tipped his head from side to side. “Getting there. Maybe if you used more tongue?”

She kissed him into a stupor, then turned him around by the hips and shoved him lightly in the direction of the tree she wanted. “I'll make you feel all kinds of masculine later tonight, sweetheart. After you get me that tree, of course. Seriously, hypothermia is setting in for the humans. We don't all run a basal body temperature of 102 degrees.”

Aiden held a hand up as he walked off toward the forest, muttering something about ball-busting under his breath.

Isaac chased after Aiden with a handful of snow and shoved it down the back of his shirt, which devolved quickly into a spastic wrestling match.

The women locked eyes in a shared expression of weariness.

“Why are boys so stupid?” Allison asked, as she watched Aiden pants Isaac, frightening an old lady who was tree shopping nearby.

Lydia's mouth turned down at the spectacle of immaturity. "This is what you gave Scott up for? This puppy?"

Allison leaned over and picked up a tree branch, which she began to whittle in earnest. "Isaac's sweet and gentle."

"Is he 'gentle' in the sack, too?" Lydia made a sour face and stuck her tongue out. "He makes Scott McCall look like Steve McQueen."

Allison's knife paused on the branch, nearly slicing it in half. "It's just...uncomplicated. Isaac is uncomplicated, which is what I need right now."

“Bullshit!” Lydia coughed, then examined her manicure. "Life's too short for uncomplicated men, Allison, though Scott's not exactly Henry Miller. Whatever floats your boat, I guess...though I'm willing to bet Isaac's not floating your boat in the way Scott used to." She leaned against the nearest car, but as soon as her back came into contact with the metal door, she leapt away, as if burned.

Allison took an alarmed stepped forward. "Are you okay? Did you get a shock or something?"

As Lydia's heartbeat picked up exponentially, her head began to spin and she was hit with the image of a tree being struck by lightening, then immolating at a rapid speed. "Something's not right."

Allison settled a warm hand in the middle of her friend's back and rubbed tiny circles on it. "Maybe it was the Mexican food we had earlier? The place looked kind of sketch, but Isaac really loves Mexican." She tried to shrug casually, but her voice held onto an acrid edge, as if this were a nightly dinner debate she was forced to endure.

"No." Lydia's breathing was labored and she reached out to brace herself on the nearby car, forgetting what had happened the last time. As her fingers brushed the aluminum siding, they caught fire. "Jesus Christ!” She buried her hand into a nearby pile of snow. “Allison, touch that door and tell me if you feel something."

"The door that just lit you on fire? No thanks!" 

As Lydia struggled to stand erect with a handful of snow in tow, Allison's eyes drifted toward the offending vehicle, which she immediately recognized. "Oh crap."

Lydia pressed the snowball into her hand and watched it melt on contact. "That's usually my line."

"No." Allison wrapped an arm around Lydia's waist and turned her around to face the car. “Look.”

"Oh crap." Lydia's bottom lip quivered, so she sucked it into her own mouth and bit down to stop the vibration. “Stiles.”

The ladies stared with mouths agape at the burnt out carcass of a Christmas tree laying in ashes next to the rear half of their friend's beloved Jeep.

Allison pulled off her mitten and dragged the edge of her index finger through the white powder that had built up on the windshield. "There's at least two inches of snow on the glass. It's barely flurried today, so the Jeep had to have been parked here all day in order to accumulate this much snow."

Lydia anxiously twisted the end of her artfully rumpled braid around her finger, her gaze was drawn to the pile of ashes. “This is definitely the result of something supernatural. I saw...a bolt of lightening shoot out of the sky and light this tree on fire.”

“It hasn't stormed like that in weeks.” Allison knelt next to Lydia and lifted a thimbleful of ashes, rubbing them between her fingers and holding them to her nose to take a whiff. “This is fresh...from today or yesterday at the latest.”

Lydia's face collapsed. “I can't see Stiles. I don't—usually it's not this hard for me to get a lead on where the body is.”

“The body?” Taking a deep breath, Allison closed her eyes to block out the onslaught of negative thoughts. "Please tell me we're not going to find a red hoodie hanging from one of those trees out there? I can't break this kind of news to Scott, and Stiles's dad...just...think harder, okay? We need to find him, and it needs to be before something bad happens to him."

"If it hasn't happened already." Lydia kneaded her hands together anxiously. 

"Sweet! Stiles is here?" Isaac shouted, bounding over to the Jeep. "He said he had to do Christmas shit all day with his dad. I didn't think we'd see him until the next pack meeting at Scott's."

“He hates going to pack meetings, so I wouldn't count on him being there.” Aiden emerged from behind a large tree and leaned it against Stiles's Jeep. “What's up, babe? You're looking kind of...bansheesque.” He looked over at Isaac, "Is she doing her thing?"

Isaac shrugged, and turned up the collar on his pea coat.

Lydia pinched the skin between her eyes to stave off the inevitable migraine that always seemed to follow one of her episodes. “Yep...just me...doin' my 'thing'...badly.” She gritted her teeth at her own failure to provide any helpful information. Lydia Martin was not used to failure.

Allison's concerned gaze connected with each of the two boys' and then settled back onto Lydia. “Still getting nothing?”

“No, Allison. Actually, I have a whole fucking wealth of information, but I'm withholding it, because I'd like to see one of my closest friends die a fiery death at the hands of an evil Druid!” Lydia snapped, then looked around the group with a quizzical expression on her face. “What? Did I say something?”

Allison approached her slowly, as if she were a feral cat. “You said evil Druid.”

Lydia's hands cupped her own cheeks in surprise. “I did? Did I really say that?”

Isaac pulled his scarf more tightly around his neck. "I heard evil Druid."

“Yeah.” Aiden gave his girlfriend a sympathetic look. "Wherever Stiles is, he hasn't been here in a while. His smell is pretty faint, though I can kind of smell his...blood."

Allison cased the circumference of the Jeep with a probing eye. "There are three sets of footprints here. The long, rounded ones – probably a men's size 10 or 11, the ones that look like they could be Vans – those belong to Stiles.” She bent down to get a better look at the second set of prints. “Those over there are definitely female. Around a size 8, so she's most likely around my height, maybe a little taller?"

"You're like 'the footprint whisperer'," Lydia said, with an uncertain look on her face. 

Isaac's mood dropped suddenly. "Uh...I can tell you who the third set of footprints belong to."

All eyes turn toward the foppish blond, who looked like he was struggling to swallow back a surge of nausea. "The third prints are Peter Hale's. And I can smell his blood here too. It's a lot stronger than Stiles's, more pungent. He was probably injured very badly when he left."

One of Lydia's hands shot out and grabbed onto the handle of Stiles's Jeep as her eyes rolled into the back of her head and squeezed shut. Her breathing turned into a pant, which burned her lungs with each contraction.

Aiden rushed in from behind and grabbed Lydia under her arms to lend his support.

Lydia reared up and drew an abnormally large pull of air into her chest, then tipped her head back and let loose a full-blown banshee scream.

The windshield of the Jeep shattered in an explosive blast, followed quickly by all four passenger windows. Isaac and Aiden each gripped their ears and buckled over in fierce pain.

Lydia eventually ran out of air and collapsed into the snow, right next to the trunk of the brunt out tree.

Aiden shook off the bout of tinnitus and lifted Lydia out of the snow, using a bridal hold. "Maybe somebody should call Scott?" Aiden looked directly at Allison, who blushed.

Allison glanced over at Lydia, who was twitching in her boyfriend's arms as she struggled to regain her breath. "I think somebody just did."

 

* * *

 

 

Jennifer paced the length of Peter's long hallway from his bedroom to the kitchen, stopping only to steal the occasional glance at Stiles, who was slumped over in the corner of the room, his face a bloody mess.

“What the hell am I supposed to do now?” she asked herself aloud, throwing her arms in the air to complete the dramatic picture.

“You could always just, you know, kill yourself,” Stiles croaked into the soft sleeve of his plaid, flannel shirt. Its once vibrant blue was now tinged purple with blood. He tilted his head to meet her hardened look and raised a hand in surrender. “You _did_ ask.”

“Shut up, Stiles! Just shut up!” Jennifer's boots clicked across the floor and she dragged him to his feet by the by the collar of his shirt. “What did you do to him?”

“Uh...whatever I had to to defend myself from a crazed lunatic who was trying to kidnap me?” Stiles squinted his condescension at her, which made Jennifer irrationally angry. “Which I am legally entitled to do, given the right to bear arms, etc...” His arm weakly made an etcetera gesture before falling limply to his side. "I'm kind of sick of being unprepared...not that it helped. Clearly."

“You,” Jennifer sneered, her face an inch away from his. “You arrogant piss ant, always mucking up my plans. Maybe you'd get into less trouble if you just had a better social life?” 

"The same might be said of you." 

Jennifer's hands twisted the material at Stiles's throat until it restricted his airflow and his lips began to turn blue. “Always in my way, screwing things up like a fly in the ointment. It's your fault that Derek didn't believe me.”

She released her grip on his shirt, and Stiles fell to the ground like a sack of bricks, gasping loudly for air. “Ever think...” he stopped to draw in another breath of air, “that Derek...” he gasped, “ didn't believe...” he gasped again, “you because you're a...” Stiles coughed violently and spat a mouthful of blood onto the floor, “Psycho Killer?”

Jennifer's eyes flashed dangerously in his direction. "Psycho Killer?"

“Que'st que c'est?” The pink bow of Stiles's lips quirked upward.

Half of her wanted to throttle the kid for mocking her, (who mocks people by quoting Talking Heads lyrics at them, anyway?), but the other half kind of wanted to shake his hand for managing to remain the same annoying little twit he always was, even during his moment of truth. Not too many 17 year olds would face their own demise with a sarcastic smirk and the lyrics to a kick-ass punk rock song.

She ran a tired hand through her hair. “I really hate you right now.”

“Well that sucks. I thought for a minute I had a shot with you...seeing as you're single again.” He gingerly fingered the bruises at the hollow of his neck and expelled a wheezing breath toward the floor. “I can't believe I ever talked Kafka with you. That shit is sacred. Actually, wait – I kind of can believe it – because my life has been a Kafkaesque, waking nightmare over the past month, and I'm pretty certain you're the architect of that gang bang.”

Jennifer was impatient five minutes ago, but now? She was done indulging Stiles's particular brand of shit-slinging. “Tell me how to fix Peter. Now, Stiles.” She held the last syllable of his name between her teeth like a deadly promise.

"You know..." Stiles laughed and wiped the blood dripping from his nose on the sleeve of his shirt, wincing in pain from the motion, “I'm thinking that's not going to happen. How exactly would that benefit me?”

“If you tell me, maybe I won't kill you?” She barely managed to get out the promise with a straight face.

“Operative word being _maybe_?” He continued to chuckle bitterly, which began to grate on her nerves. “I'm gonna have to pass on that one, teach. To quote the character of Tevye, whom I played in our middle school production of 'Fiddler on the Roof': 'If you spit in the air, it lands in your face'. I'm pretty sure that logic applies to this situation. Tevye knew what was up.”

Peter groaned out in agony from where he laid in the bedroom. His braying moan raised the hair on the back of Jennifer's neck, pulling her out of the discussion spiral Stiles had sucked her into.

“Okay, look...” Jennifer walked quickly over to her captive with purpose. “I don't have to kill you, but I do have to keep you here for a while. I can let you walk out of here alive when I'm done with you.”

Stiles pitched his head to the side to squint at her again. “When you're done with me?” His mouth fell open in amusement. “If you're trying NOT to sound ominous, that's probably not the way to phrase that. Just an FYI, you know, for the next time you feel like trying your hand at kidnapping an underage child.”

Jennifer bit her lip hard to prevent herself from tearing into him. She had to keep her focus on the objective: finding a cure for Peter. She knew Stiles had laced his bullet with something like Wolfsbane, but with over 300 strains, her partner would be dead by the time she figured it out. “What do you want? Just name your terms.”

“What do I ever want from you?” Stiles asked with total sincerity. “Maybe you could move the whole dog and pony show away from Beacon Hills, take a soujourn to the next town over? Leave my loved ones and friends alone for a refractory period at the very least? And maybe, you know...don't strangle me?”

“This wasn't my choice, okay?” Jennifer's attention was pulled toward the front door, and she wondered how easy it would be for her to just walk through it.

But where would she go? What would she do? She couldn't start over from scratch again, she didn't have the fortitude.

And Peter – he wasn't Derek - didn't have his nephew's heart or capacity for love. But he did spare her life, and he took her in when she needed it most. He even promised to help her find a permanent solution to her mangled face. She was sick of braving the world all alone. Peter understood that.

“If this is about Derek...” Stiles said quietly, his jaw tightening with the mention of her former lover's name, “He's gone. He just left town without speaking a word to anybody. I wouldn't know how to find him if I wanted to.” Without thinking, he scrubbed his bruised face with both hands, recoiling at the shock of white heat that most likely broke to the surface.

Jennifer's face stilled as she looked down on the despondent-looking boy. “Oh my God, you're sad.”

Stiles shot her a withering stare. “What gave you that impression? My bloody nose or the stench of fear due to my impending death?”

“I'm talking about Derek,” she said sneering, her tone taking on a jealous edge. "You're sad about Derek."

With his arms thrown wide, Stiles shrugged. “Yeah. I'm sad. The guy has been dragged around by life. He has no support system, no real family beyond a sister he hasn't seen in years. I mean, I'd have to be dead not to feel for the guy. He is a friend of mine?”

“You don't sound so sure about that.”

“I am. I'm sure. Derek and I are...friends. I think. Maybe even good friends, seeing as he doesn't have any others. He'd probably even see it that way, too. Possibly.” Stiles's features formed angular shapes from the tension in his face. “But he left, and he brought Cora with him, which double sucks, because she was probably the hottest chick in town outside of Lydia. Maybe even hotter, because she has that same Hale asshole gene that I respond to - for whatever reason. Anyway, they -- they're just fucking gone – and it's because of you! Derek may act like a tool in almost every facet of his life, but he's still a tool I'm kind of used to having around at my disposal. Wow. That came out way pornier than intended." He paused to frown, before continuing his tirade. "Look, his life has pretty much been a parade of crap, but he always kept his chin up...at least he did until your little mind-fuck. That seemed to have been the straw that broke the alpha's back. So congratulations, lady, you've done what five-alarm fires, murdered loves ones and living without running water failed to accomplish." He gave her a caustic salute.

Stiles, as irritating as he was, had a point. She ran Derek off with her machinations. He could have been hers – he _was_ hers – until she fucked it all up by forcing him to help her go after Kali and Deucalion. After fantasizing about him since he'd been a boy of 15, why couldn't she have just been happy finally achieving that relationship? Why wasn't Derek alone enough for her?

Jennifer's body grew rigid with a mixture of self-loathing and anger. Her fist pressed against her lips to prevent her from saying something she would regret.

“As far as that piece of shit traitor goes...” Prompted by another wail from Peter, Stiles pointed at the bedroom door, “he can fucking die for all I care. Again.”

“He _is_ dying. Now, tell me how to save him, Stiles.” Without realizing it, Jennifer's eyes had filled to the brim with unshed tears...and they weren't even fake. “Please.”

“I already killed him once, Ms. Blake. Killing him twice would just kind of be the icing on the cake.” Stiles reclined against the back of the couch and ran a hand through his hair.

“How are you this jaded at such a young age?” A pang of pity bloomed within her chest for him. He was her student once, and she did enjoy teaching kids, even if it wasn't her first priority. Stiles, especially, was the kind of student who came through a teacher's life maybe four or five times in an entire career.

“I'm lying on the floor of a zombie werewolf's apartment in a puddle of my own blood, while an evil Druid hovers over me, threatening to kill me.” Stiles swallowed hard and pressed his lips together to regain control of his gathering emotions. “I'm 17. I'm supposed to be applying to colleges, sneaking beers out of my dad's fridge with my buddies and losing my virginity after the prom to the girl of my dreams. I'm not supposed to be receiving a monthly Amazon shipment of arnica cream, vitamin K and herbal coagulants. My life is so fucked up.” He huffed out a laugh that sounded closer to a sob. “Your life is pretty fucked up too.”

“You're not wrong.” Jennifer nodded and slid down the back of the couch to the ground next to Stiles. They sat side by side in companionable silence, until a look of terror crossed Stiles's face. He turned to her with a flash of betrayal, grabbed his own throat and began to choke himself with vigor.

“This is the last time I'm going to ask you. What did you do to Peter and how do I fix it?” Her eyes glowed an otherworldly shade of pale blue that matched the color that Stiles's lips were beginning to turn. “Are you ready to talk yet? Just let me know when you're feeling in the mood.”

Stiles's eyes were pinched shut with effort, and he nodded emphatically. Jennifer waved her hand at him as though she were shooing away a gnat, and her hold over the boy vanished.

She folded her arms across her chest and beamed triumphantly. “Really thrilled you decided to cooperate, Stiles. It's about time.”

 

 

 

 

 

Stop by and say hi on Tumblr: [Happily Shanghaied](http://happilyshaghaied.tumblr.com)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Somebody is beaten up and kidnapped  
> \- Somebody is choked repeatedly  
> \- Past dub-con sex referenced (again, the Dennifer thing)  
> \- Somebody is kidnapped  
> \- Somebody is shot in self-defense  
> Please leave a comment and let me know what you're thinking, if you have the time!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I like my wolves to have a little fight in them.” Peter launched a Cheshire Cat grin. “Unlike my nephew, I believe an independent streak is a good thing in a beta, as long as they ultimately submit,” he said, over-pronouncing the last word with relish.
> 
> A chill ran down the center of Jennifer's spine. “What's so important about submission? I never understood that about your kind.”
> 
> “Not everybody is cut out to be an alpha. Somebody has to make the tough calls that most are unwilling or unable to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still beta-free, so typos abound!  
> Check ending noted for triggers (of which there are _many_ this chapter)  
>  Thanks for reading!

 

 

 

 

The last three hours had simultaneously been both the longest and the shortest of Jennifer Blake's life. Once she'd forced Stiles into telling her what she needed to know to help Peter, she'd spent the next 60 minutes trying to reverse all of the damage he'd done.

Turned out, that Stiles hadn't used wolfsbane at all, but rather, hemlock. She'd been expecting wolfsbane, which is exactly why she should have ruled it out in the first place. If there was one thing she could reliably predict about Stiles Stilinski, it was that he was completely unpredictable. Always.

After wrestling with a fever-sick Peter to hold still long enough to administer the antidote, Jennifer returned to feed the prisoner. Stiles would be of absolutely no use to them dead...not yet, at least. She failed quite miserably to get him to ingest even one bite of food (she really couldn't blame him for assuming she'd poisoned it), but since she was pretty sure he'd last through the night, she couldn't be bothered to care.

The real challenge came when she attempted to hide him. It took nearly every ounce of her reserve power to conjure a cloak of invisibility around Stiles. Though he was no Druid, he wasn't a novice to the ways of her kind, and he fought her inch for inch.

Some people are easy to make disappear. They're usually the ones others hardly notice when they're actually present. But Stiles? Even on a good day, he was harder to ignore than a Macarena ring tone.

Plus, he had the kind of resolve and concentration that could only be honed through years of intensive special ed therapy. It would be just her luck to get a kid who'd spent half his life doing weekly bio-feedback sessions to mitigate the effects of his ADHD. Like most with his disorder, he could either focus on nothing at all, or was focused on one thing so intensely that everything else around him fell away.

For a self-trained mage, Stiles was pretty good. His thirst for knowledge, intelligence and enthusiasm were the kind of traits required to do what she did. And he had an energy about him, a kinetic maelstrom buzzing just underneath the surface of his skin at all times, giving him the power to bring a spell to life. She'd met very few humans with so much untapped power. With proper instruction, he would have been a great sorcerer. He might have even been become one of the best.

A person has to want to be invisible, they need to visualize it themselves, and make it happen through self-actualization. To force it on another requires dominance and skill. It came as no surprise to Jennifer, that Stiles's relentless push-back would have managed to drain her battery.

In fact, not only did he drain her power entirely, he actually sapped even more than she had to give. As she peered at her reflection in the bathroom mirror in Peter's loft, she was greeted with the second most harrowing site she'd ever seen: a shock of white hair cascading down her back with the same finesse as her original dark locks. As quickly as a pea shoot in spring time, a chunk of her hair had faded to white. The texture of her strands were still supple and just as glossy, but they were greyer than her grandma's.

The little fucker had actually managed to suck the life out of her in just over an hour. And for that alone, she would make him pay dearly. She knew exactly which virgin would serve as her next sacrifice.

Jennifer soundlessly crept into Peter's bedroom, trying not to wake him. She didn't know at what point over the last week, keeping Peter Hale alive became a priority for her, but it had. A big one.

The moment she felt him at her back as she crawled toward her salvation at the base of the Nemeton, a plan took form. If he had let her survive, if by some miracle she managed to convince him to let her live, she would have killed him for his mercy. As soon as she'd felt strong enough, she would have brought the hammer down hard when he was least expecting it.

But then he killed someone for her. The very next day, like it was important to him. He said it was for the Nemeton, but it was clearly a gift for her, a peace offering.

The sacrifice they selected was 40, worked in a gaming store and was beyond morbidly obese. It didn't take a genius to determine that he was a virgin, but Peter sniffed it out before they'd even entered the store.

It took 20 minutes to drag the man's nearly lifeless body to Peter's car, and another 30 to get him to the Nemeton. It was like hauling the palest, most unwieldy bale of hay.

Though Peter was strong, the man's weight, combined with his frequent thrashing, made for a difficult journey. But they were able to do it together, and when blood was spilled at the base of the Nemeton, and its power surged through Jennifer's body like a junkie's first hit, she'd felt more beautiful than she had since the day Kali ruined her life. But it wasn't just because of the Nemeton, it was the approving way Peter had looked at her right before she killed the man. And for the first time in longer than she could remember, she felt somewhat lighter.

After that day, her plan had changed. She would not only let Peter Hale live, but she would make him love her, and she would do it without the use of magic.

 

She had barely gotten two steps past the threshold before being detected. Damn werewolf hearing.

“Jenny?” He rolled over onto his side and studied her face, like it somehow contained the secrets of the universe within its folds. “What happened to your hair?”

Jennifer tucked it behind her ear with embarrassment and lingered in the doorway. “Stiles was a little more difficult to subdue than I'd anticipated." She waved her hand in the air like she was over it all.

“What happened to your hand?” Peter winced at the open cut that was currently dripping blood all over his hardwood floor. He coaxed her to sit with him. “Is that your blood, or...?”

“It's mine. I'm fine.” She sat on the edge of his bed and let him examine both sides of her hand carefully.

Peter's eyes glazed over as he buried his nose into the gaps between her fingers, sniffing the streaks of blood that were now drying in flaky lines down the back of her hand. Without warning or permission, Peter's warm tongue brushed up against her cut and licked it clean.

He was a werewolf and she was bleeding. She'd been around enough of them in her lifetime that she was barely phased by it anymore. The soft buds on the flat of his tongue tickled the palm of her hand and she held back a laugh. There was no way she was enjoying this. Not at all. Nor was she thinking of all of the other things he might be able to do with a tongue that strong.

“I smell--” A look of amusement crossed Peter's weary face. “Did you have your finger in Stiles's mouth? I'm not going to lie, it's not like I haven't thought about it...”

“Peter,” she sighed and tried to pull her hand away, but his grip only tightened. “It's from when I tried to feed him something earlier. He bit me.”

He rolled onto his back, reached up with his free hand and twisted the grey streaked hair around his index finger. “He really did a number on you, didn't he? I told you to watch out for him. He's wilier than he looks.”

Her eyes dropped to the broken skin on her hand, which immediately fused back together, leaving behind the faint pink blush of new skin. “It's really nothing.”

“Not anymore.” His forehead pinched with thought. “You can heal.”

“The Nemeton has been very good to me.” Jennifer snatched her hand back, immediately regretting the loss of warmth. “I can do a lot of things.”

One eyebrow arched teasingly in her direction. “Color me extremely intrigued.”

Her mouth picked up into a smile, and she tamped down the uneasy sensation fluttering inside of her gut. “Do you – can I get you anything?”

Peter shook his head. “I'm mostly healed now, though the strain of hemlock Stiles used on me was a particularly nasty one. I suppose it would have been exactly like him to have done his research.”

“He's a little unnerving for an untrained mage, actually.” Her mind flashed back to the look on Stiles's face when he'd known he had finally been bested, and she preened. “He knows how to keep a girl on her toes, I'll give him that.”

“You have no idea.” Peter chuckled to himself, as his fingers grazed his slowly-healing bullet hole, just over where his heart should be.

Jennifer averted her gaze, but the sinewy muscles stretched taut over Peter's chest brought her attention back to his body like a magnet to steel. “Sorry about--” she gestured to his nude body and blushed. “Your clothes were soaked through with blood, and my main priority was getting you the antidote. I haven't had a chance to fetch you some clean clothes yet.”

“I'm not modest.” He winked and she felt her stomach lurch.

“Half an inch to my left and I'd have been done for.” Peter pulled the bed sheet down to his waist to assess his healing process better. “Derek certainly wasted an opportunity with that one, though I can't say I'm shocked.”

“What do you mean?” Feeling unsettled by the shock of desire circulating through her like a blood disease, Jennifer looked around to find anything to keep her herself busy with.

Peter's fingers caressed the curve of his own neck before clearing his throat, and Jennifer's skin flushed with want.

“Water?” Without waiting for an answer, she poured Peter a glass of water from the jug sitting on his nightstand and brought it to his lips.

“Thank you.” Peter tipped his head back and swallowed greedily, his Adam's apple bobbing rhythmically with each swallow until he drained the entire glass. “I was thirsty.”

“You lost a lot of blood.” Jennifer's fingers glided over his as she brought the glass back and refilled it. “You were saying...about Derek?”

“Ah! Yes. Instead of making measured, strategic choices, which one would normally do when building a pack, Derek indiscriminately put his mouth on every desperate teen in Beacon Hills, like some two dollar whore.” Peter snorted, before cupping his hand over hers and guiding the newly-filled glass of water toward his mouth for another drink. “That's no way to build a pack.”

Jennifer's elbow brushed the side of Peter's rib cage and she jolted back. “You didn't approve of his choices?”

Peter took another large sip of water and then released her hand. “I mean, look at the people he gave the bite to. Boyd was Derek's only sound decision, and he ended up killing the poor kid with his own two hands.”

“That wasn't really his fault,” she said, rising to Derek's defense. She knew personally what it was like to suffer the fallout from one of Kali's ruthless schemes, and she couldn't allow Derek to take the flack for something like that. Even after he betrayed her.

An exasperated breath left Peter's lips. “Were you aware of Derek's 'big plan' to beat Kali at her own game? He flooded his own apartment with water and ran an open current of electricity through it.”

“Right...that.” She smirked at the memory. What was he thinking?

“With a plan like that, who needs enemies, am I right?” Peter shook his head in disbelief. “The stupidity of it...Derek may as well have just let Deucalion plot his defense out for him.”

Jennifer wanted to interject on Derek's behalf - her instincts were practically begging her to - but Peter had a point. It was probably the most inept defense strategy in the history of...ever?

“Two of Derek's wolves are dead, two left town, and the one that's left is so meek and badly trained that he's been using Allison Argent as his personal body shield.” His eyes closed with disgust at the mental image, and she took the opportunity to steal a glance at the tight expanse of his bronzed skin.

She may have loved Derek then, but Peter was absolutely right about him. He made a terrible alpha. Seeing as Peter was harder to kill than a roach after a nuclear apocalypse, she was inclined to defer to his opinion on Derek's fitness as a leader. After all, Peter was practically the General Patton of lupine warfare. “Who would you have bitten instead?”

His eyes lit up at the question, as they always did when she asked him for his opinion on something. “You used to be an emissary. Who would you have advised me to bite?” He grinned playfully at her with only his eyes.

“You're turning the question around on me?” Jennifer poked her index finger into his uninjured shoulder. “That's avoidance.”

“I'm merely trying to find out how compatible we are.” He smiled at her like he had a delicious secret. “You know, as partners in supernatural vigilantism.”

“Partners in supernatural vigilantism? Catchy.” Jennifer rolled her eyes indulgently at him. “To answer your question though...of the people we know, I guess I would have chosen Allison Argent.”

He stroked his goatee thoughtfully. “Interesting pick. Why?”

“If she were a werewolf on top of being an expert marksman and combat fighter...God help anyone who messed with the Hale pack. Plus, she's a hunter, so she has insider knowledge. Turning her would also keep her dad in line.”

“Please,” Peter smiled and waved a hand, “do go on...”

“As much as it pains me to say,” Jennifer explored the now-vanished wound on her hand with the pads of her fingers, “I'd have chosen Stiles next. Though he'd probably make a better emissary than a beta, since he's not very good at following orders. On the positive side, he's the sheriff's son, so again, insider knowledge. Physically, his build is solid, though decidedly average, but mentally...he's got it all over any of you. Sometimes I forget he's only 17, but then he opens his mouth...” She exhaled a frustrated laugh. “You know, I wouldn't even risk sending him out on missions, because he's honestly worth more in the war room than on any battlefield.”

“I second that emotion.” Peter teased the faint remnants of his bullet wound with his thumb. “I actually offered Stiles the bite once, when I was still an alpha.”

“Offered?” Jennifer's eyebrows shot up with interest. “You don't strike me as the type of man who offers to do anything. I always assumed that a guy like you just takes whatever he wants.”

Peter pinned her open like a dissection frog with a carefully placed glance. “Usually...but like you said, Stiles is a brain trust. You don't want to have a pissed off little genius planning your next tactical maneuver. That's the kind of thing that can get a pack killed. He had to come to me willingly or not at all.”

Jennifer felt close to Peter like this, her armor slipping away perilously, exposing her tender underbelly. Was he still talking about Stiles? “He stubborn.”

“I like my wolves to have a little fight in them.” Peter launched a Cheshire Cat grin. “Unlike my nephew, I believe an independent streak is a good thing in a beta, as long as they ultimately submit,” he said, over-pronouncing the last word with relish.

A chill ran down the center of Jennifer's spine. “What's so important about submission? I never understood that about your kind.”

“Not everybody is cut out to be an alpha. Somebody has to make the tough calls that most are unwilling or unable to.”

“What about a democracy?” Jennifer suddenly felt self-conscious, her hands felt too empty and restless again. She knew what she'd like to fill them with... “It seems to work well for Western countries.”

“Does it?” Peter blithely stretched out onto his pillow like a pampered kitten. “I hadn't noticed.”

“Not everybody wants to be controlled, Peter” she said, pointedly.

“Au contraire.” A lazy smile spread across his face, making her breath catch in her throat. “Giving up all decision-making to the right person can be freeing. I think most people want to be dominated, they just don't know it yet or can't admit it to themselves. There's nothing shameful about just...letting go.” His long fingers scissored the air, mimicking the wings of a bird.

A flash of heat crept up Jennifer's skin and she swallowed dryly. She needed to change the topic ASAP. “Their friend Danny would have made a good beta. Not sure if you know him, but he's something of a computer genius.”

“Tall, strapping, Mexican lad, that one of the Wonder Twins was making time with?”

“I think he's Asian. Hawaiian maybe?” Jennifer shrugged. “He figured out the entire system of energy currents connected to the Nemeton as a science project. The others were killing themselves trying to uncover the pattern of locations for the sacrifices, and Danny just stumbled onto it on a lark. Of course, I had to put him in the hospital for it.”

Peter's moue turned pensive. “You're quite good at this.”

“I know.” A stab of pain gripped her heart as she remembered exactly why she excelled at things like this.

Years of working closely with Kali had given her the kind of education you couldn't get from books. Kali was bright - the smartest, toughest werewolf she'd ever know - it's what earned her the kind of blind devotion from her betas that you only hear about in folklore. It's ultimately what lead to their demise.

It would have killed her too, had Kali shown mercy and bothered to finish the job she'd started.

One of Peter's fingers trailed along the top of Jennifer's arm, up and down, from her shoulder to her wrist. She wondered how something could be soothing like a metronome yet distractingly arousing at the same time. “I know you think I'm ruthless, and I'm not denying that I've done some...messy things in the name of self-preservation and revenge, but I would never harm my own pack.”

Her eyes flicked toward his, and somehow, she knew he was telling the truth.

“I was in that fire, you know, the one that killed Derek's parents? His mother was my sister, my alpha. My pack was my whole world and then they were just...gone...and so went my humanity.” His finger dug harder into her skin, scraping along a jagged path. “Do you know how long it takes a person who can heal themselves to burn to death? The humans in my family were the lucky ones.” His hand rested on her wrist in a tight grip as his eyelids fluttered closed. “Peter Hale may have died in that fire, but his wolf survived.”

She leaned in a little closer and rested her hand over Peter's heart. “You're still in there, Peter. I have the ability to see...things...there are things that I can sense, and I...I can feel you in there, still.”

His eyes shot open, an intense blue that stole her breath away. “What about you, Jennifer? Julia? Where are you?”

Jennifer squirmed uncomfortably under the weight of his glare. “I'm – there's nothing left of me – none of the good parts, at least. Kali ripped those from me when she took my face, and my identity.”

“If you truly believe there's even a hint of me left in this shell of a body...” He covered the hand she had pressed against his heart with his own. “After everything I've been through and everything I've done, if I'm still here, well...then there has to be something left of you, too.”

One lone tear rolled slowly down the swell of her cheek, stopping mid-journey. She had no idea where it came from. “I don't think that's possible, Peter. I don't feel like Julia or Jennifer anymore. I have no idea who I'm supposed to be now.”

“Well, whoever you are...” Peter's other hand lifted to her cheek and gently cupped the side of her face, “I hope you're not planning on killing me in my sleep, because I'm beginning to think you're the only person around who sees the world the way that I do.”

His thumb reached up and brushed the tear from her cheek.

Jennifer's heartbeat broke into a gallop and she smiled into the palm of his hand. “Killing somebody in their sleep? Sheesh. Totally not my style. I quite enjoy those moments just before the final blow, when the realization of what's about to happen crosses one of my victims' faces. That's when the revenge tastes its sweetest.”

Her tongue swiped over her bottom lip and Peter tracked it with his lust-darkened eyes. Five fingerprints dug into the side of her face as he pulled her closer to him.

Peter's skin was warm to the touch - though his fever had long since vanished - but she knew that wolves always ran hot. As she closed the distance between them, all she could think about was chasing that warmth until it filled her completely and soothed her insides.

Just as Jennifer's lips came within breathing distance of his, she abruptly pulled back. “I don't – I'm not glamouring you. This isn't – I swear, I'm not using magic on you right now.”

He had to have known how things progressed with Derek, how it looked to everybody they knew. It wasn't innocent, until it was. She may have glamoured him to start with, but she needed to believe that Derek grew to love her on his own, even if he did stop once Scott tossed the mistletoe into the air, and they all saw her real face for the first time.

Jennifer held her breath, willing Peter to believe the truth of her intentions.

“Funny,” Peter murmured through a smug smile that pricked at the edges of his mouth. “Most women accuse me of bringing the magic.”

“Please tell me you aren't toying with me,” she begged, “that this isn't just you being manipulative...”

Grabbing both her wrists, Peter pulled Jennifer against his body and then rolled them over, positioning himself above her. “Oh, I plan to manipulate you, but only in the ways you'll appreciate. You saved my life – and as far as I'm concerned, no good deed goes unpunished.”

Her chest heaved in staccato against his as her mind spun through the possibilities. “Un...p-punished?”

Peter pinned Jennifer's hands over her head, and pressed her wrists painfully into the carved, mahogany headboard behind them. “We've both been very bad, Jenny, wouldn't you say?”

Something in Jennifer's mind broke, and she nodded her head emphatically, not fully processing what she was saying. “So bad.”

A slow smile spread across Peter's face as he dipped down to mouth the outside ridge of her ear. “Are you going to be a good girl from now on?”

His hips rotated once and thrust upward, digging his naked erection into Jennifer's thigh. She gasped loudly and then clenched her stomach muscles hard. “Yes,” she spat out breathlessly. “Whatever you want...yes, I'll do it.”

“Say it. Tell me you'll be a good girl for me,” he purred, before sinking his human teeth into her earlobe.

“I'll be a good girl.” It was like she had no control over her mouth, but she didn't care. Maybe that was the point Peter was making about submission?

Soft puffs of breath tickled the skin behind her ear and her entire body seized up in anticipation, a mass of brittle nerves. He hadn't even kissed her yet and she was already on the knife's edge of pleasure.

“You're going to make a fine beta one day.” He licked a stripe up the side of her neck and her mind shorted out. All she could hear after that was white noise.

“A beta...” she repeated obediently into Peter's silken hair. Before she could speak to question it, he laved the side of her neck, sucking kisses from her jaw to her collarbone, his stubble rubbing her skin raw along the way. “Oh, fuck...”

“Oh you're going to get fucked alright,” Peter growled into her skin.

She could hear the mirth in his voice, even with his face buried in her neck. He inhaled her scent hard and bathed her with his tongue. The only other person who had ever done this, who had ever scent-marked her, was Kali.

Peter was claiming her. And even if she logically hated everything about the practice, she couldn't deny that it was hot.

“Tell me you're going to submit to me, Jennifer.” His hands tightened into a titanium grip around her wrists, which were still pushed into the headboard. He rocked himself into her again, this time closer to her core. But not close enough.

She cried out and her back arched into him, desperate for friction. “Oh God...oh God...please Peter...”

“Not until you submit,” he whispered, drawing out the command in a way that went straight to her groin.

Submit? She was an emissary, not a werewolf. She wasn't one of his betas. Unless...

“Peter...” Jennifer's eyes grew big with epiphany. “You're not going to bite me, are you?”

“I plan to bite you quite a bit, actually.”

“That's not what I meant and you know it.” Her pulse raced at the prospect of being turned, unsure if it was from excitement or from fear. She picked her head up to look at him and his grip on her loosened. “You're not going to bite me?”

Tilting his head to the side, he looked into her eyes. His irises were incandescent blue around pupils that were blown wide with arousal. “That sounded more like a question than a statement.”

She watched helplessly as Peter's claws extended and carved a thin line down the center of her shirt, cutting straight through to her bra, which burst open at the break and exposed her breasts to him. He buried his face in them and rocked into her core once more.

“I – I don't know. I don't know if I want...that.” The muscles in her face felt sore from clenching. She needed a release. “Do I have a choice?”

“I don't have the power to turn people anymore...not yet.” Peter leaned forward and licked the length of her bottom lip. “But yes. Your choice...but I hope you choose wisely.”

Her eyes rolled into the back of her head at the sensation and she sucked in a hit of air. “Can I think about it?”

“Your face.” He sucked Jennifer's bottom lip into his mouth and bit down hard. When he lifted his head, she saw her blood smeared across his mouth. “Your face would heal if you were bitten. You wouldn't have to keep making sacrifices to the Nemeton for the power to stay like this.”

Peter licked her blood off of his lips with a low moan and something deep within her psyche lost control. She wouldn't have to murder again just to feel normal. She would be whole again. “I'll do it. I'll let you bite me.”

He looked down on her with fondness and stroked the grey lock of hair out of her face. “You'll let me bite you, or you want me to?”

Jennifer groaned and threw her head back against the pillow. “I want it. I want you to give it to me, Peter. Give me the bite.”

Peter thrust into her, scoring a direct hit against her most sensitive spot. “Good girl.”

“Holy shit!” Jennifer laughed so hard at her absurd situation, that tears filled her eyes. How the hell had she gotten herself into this mess, and why on Earth wasn't she interested in walking away?

“When I'm an alpha...” Leaning forward, Peter captured her mouth with his and kissed her languidly. “You'll submit to me.”

Clouded by a fog of lust, Jennifer nodded weakly as though her head were barely attached. “I'll submit,” she whispered, licking into his mouth. “I'll submit to you, Peter. Anything.”

“I hate to break up this absolutely revolting display of 'affection', but as usual, I believe you've taken something of mine.” Lydia Martin stood in the doorway of Peter's bedroom, arms crossed, slowly tapping one of her Manolo booties against the wooden floor.

Peter pulled off of Jennifer, his face already half wolfed-out. “If I'd known you were coming, Lydia, we would have waited for you.”

Jennifer pulled the blanket up over her exposed breasts and sat up in a daze. Her arms hung limply in her lap now, sore and throbbing from the lack of circulation. She rubbed rhythmic circles into her bruised wrists to regain the sensation.

“As tantalizing as that offer _isn't_ ,” Lydia snorted her disgust, “you'll grow old before it ever happens, Peter. Do zombies age?”

He pouted his lips in mock offense. “I seem to remember you finding one particular incarnation of me particularly devastating.”

Lydia narrowed her eyes at Jennifer and sighed. “Careful Ms. Blake...he's a taker that one, and usually he doesn't even ask nicely.”

Peter's jaw clicked with tension. “If you haven't noticed, Lydia, we're in the middle of something...”

“Sure thing. Just give me my friend back, and I'll be on my way.” She batted her eyes innocently at him.

“Your friend? You're a popular girl, how am I supposed to know to whom you're referring?” He challenged her stare with his own.

“So help me, Peter, if you don't tell me where you stashed Stiles right now, I'm going to kill you,” she said, her voice rattling low and hard, “and this time, I'll make sure you stay dead.”

“Lydia Martin, you never do disappoint.” Peter's eyes expanded along with his shock. “Please, do tell me how you plan on killing me. I'm dyyying to know.”

From just beyond the door frame, Aiden stepped into view. “I can help answer that one.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Blood play  
> \- Light BDSM, talk of submission  
> \- Somebody is held to the bed (with non-verbal consent)  
> \- Somebody has clothes torn off of them (with non-verbal consent)  
> \- Past reference to dubcon sex  
> \- Past reference to dubcon mind control  
> \- Biting  
> \- Somebody is poisoned
> 
> *If I've missed anything you think should be included, lemme know!*
> 
> I really appreciate each and every one of you Jennifer/Peter fans. If you have the time to leave a comment - I'd love to hear from you :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Whatever happened to you submitting to me?" 
> 
> Jennifer could hear the grin in his voice as he held her body down.
> 
> "Peter..." She gave up the fight and let herself enjoy the December chill on Peter's skin, willing it to transfer from his body onto hers. “I'm not a beta, and you're not an alpha yet, so this discussion is moot. I can't 'submit' right now any more than you can accept." As her gaze found him, she noticed out of the corner of her eye that his room looked as though it had been ransacked. "What happened?"
> 
> Peter's face brushed against hers as he pressed his cheek into her forehead. “You don't remember?”
> 
> She shook her head.
> 
> “Probably better that way.” He dropped an easy kiss on her temple and leaned back into the headboard behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Triggers listed in the end notes.
> 
> Smut ahead, so tread carefully if you avoid that kind of stuff.
> 
> FYI - I'm still betaless - so please excuse the typos.

 

Scott was waiting in his driveway long before Isaac and Allison pulled up in her car. There was something very wrong with his pack. He'd felt it in his marrow even before he'd heard the sound of Lydia's banshee call. Barely been a werewolf for a year, an alpha for two weeks, and a pack leader for even less, he had no idea what he was doing on a good day. For him not to be completely out of his depth right now, would be a small miracle.

 

He needed Derek.

 

The guy said they were brothers, and then turned heel and booked the first bus ticket he could out of town. Brothers didn't leave each other when they were in need of help, they stood by them.

 

Brothers carried around heart monitors to help you practice control, and bought reinforced steel chains to keep you from hurting yourself and others when you failed to. They forgave you for for all of the times when your friendship wasn't even, and fetched you in the middle of the night when you were injured, even when they were mad. They lied to their parents for you, and lied to your parents for you, and they took heat that didn't belong to them just to keep you safe. Brothers stayed.

 

Except one of his didn't, and now Scott was stuck playing alpha to a group of people who counted on him, when he wasn't even sure he could count on himself. And he couldn't let them down, it wasn't an option. Because even if Derek wasn't man enough to shoulder his responsibilities, Scott would do it for him, because that's what a brother should do. That's what Stiles would do.

 

Scott refused to leave the pack like his father left him. He wouldn't be able to look at himself in the mirror if he did.

 

But this - this nagging feeling of dread, was...unexpected. Was this how Derek felt all the time?

 

Allison hopped out of the driver's seat of her car and slammed the door closed with her foot, not bothering to to fix the side mirror she'd inadvertently kicked in.

 

"What happened?" Scott shifted his weight anxiously from foot, like a novice boxer about to enter the ring for the first time.

 

"I assume you heard Lydia?" Her expression was pinched in a way that Scott had never seen before and it twisted his stomach in knots.

 

Just as he started to speak, he heard the passenger door open, and Isaac popped into sight with a sheepish wave. "Hey."

 

"Hey." Scott nodded hello in his direction and turned back to Allison with a questioning look. "This must be bad if you had to bring backup."

 

She bit her bottom lip and locked eyes with him, in the same silent way they used to communicate before things had gone to hell with them.

 

And he knew. He just _knew_.

 

Because Allison didn't do pity, she did empathy, and the look in her red-rimmed eyes was something almost approaching grief. Seeing as she was standing in front of him - presumably safe - that only left two other people this look could be for, and only one of them ran with werewolves in their spare time...  

 

"Is Stiles dead?" Scott tried desperately to remain stoic, but his voice broke like a child's on the final word.

 

Allison's gaze drifted toward Isaac and she tilted her head.

 

"Oh," Isaac said, followed by a nervous cough. "I can just...yeah." He pointed in the direction of Scott's house and let himself in the house, using the front door, without another word. Seeing as Isaac could hear conversations a mile off, it wasn't like they would have more privacy this way, but the illusion was enough.

 

"He's missing," Allison said, the moment the door shut, "His car was abandoned at the tree nursery, there was a trace amount of his blood on the ground. Aiden didn't think he'd been there all day, judging by his scent. And Isaac, he smelled Peter's blood."

 

Scott rolled his eyes. "Peter's mixed up in this? I know I shouldn't be surprised, but..."

 

"And, uh, Lydia mentioned something about the Darach, but there were no specifics."

 

Scott blanched in disbelief. "Jennifer Blake is dead. I saw Deucalion kill her myself." 

 

Was he imagining things? No. He remember the spray of blood, the look of surprise on her face and the soft gurgle as she choked on her own blood. Jennifer was dead. Of course she was.

 

Allison looked behind them, as if somebody had tailed her. "Maybe - maybe she's not dead? She seemed dead once before when she wasn't. We thought Peter was dead." 

 

Peter. Well, that explained a lot. "Well, what did Lydia say? Is Stiles still...alive."

 

"Lydia can't tell."

 

Scott ran a hand through his hair roughly and exhaled sharply. "What do you mean, 'she can't tell'? Isn't that, like, the only thing she does?!"

 

"I don't know enough about banshees to say." Allison shrugged off his ire and looked off into the distance.

 

"Well, do you know anything?" he shouted, causing her to wince, then started to pace the width of his driveway. "I'm sorry, Allison. God, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to yell, I just..." He stopped moving and braced his hands on his bent knees. "This would usually be the moment I would call Stiles for advice."

 

"...or Derek," she added.

 

Scott nodded at the ground and then laughed sadly at his predicament. "What am I supposed to do?" He looked up at her, with tears unabashedly welling in his eyes. He couldn't even be embarrassed, not with his best friend gone. If something happened to Stiles, he honestly had no idea what he might be capable of doing. "Since you and I --he's kind of my anchor, now."

 

Allison dropped her messenger bag on the floor and closed the distance between them. She wrapped her long arms under his shoulders and around his back, taking the majority of his weight onto her chest. "I'm so sorry, Scott."

 

Scott buried his face into her hair and inhaled her sweet scent. He missed her bitterly, but she was her own woman, and he couldn't force her to love him back. He wouldn't want to even if he could, because she deserved to be happy, however she made that happen. 

 

He took several deep breaths and released them into her shoulder before loosening his grip. "I don't know what to do, Allison. I've never had to deal with something like this alone."

 

She cupped his face in her hands to force him to look at her. "You're not alone, Scott. We might not be...but you're not alone, you have your pack. You have me." Her fingers ghosted the sides of his jaw and as she took in his features, like she'd actually missed them. "Always."

 

Something in his eyes must have spooked Allison, because she abruptly tried to drop her hands. He was too quick in covering them with his own though, and held them tightly to his face. "And we're going to figure this out together."

 

With their eyes still locked, Allison nodded slowly. "Damn right we are."

 

Scott smiled and offered up a resolute nod before allowing her to draw her hands back. "Now...where's Lydia."

 

Allison laughed nervously and looked at her feet. "You're really not going to like this..." 

 

 

* * *

 

 

Jennifer woke with a start, unaware of her surroundings. Her head felt heavy and light all at once, with vision that blurred around the edges like an 80's television flashback.

 

Her mind was untethered - like a kite caught in a tornado - a side effect of using too much magic in a short period of time. It was the rebound effect: much like a boomerang, the more she exerted herself, the worse the hangover was once the adrenaline wore off.

 

The last time she suffered from this, was evening of the big showdown at the distillery. She allowed herself to be tricked by Derek into draining her power to heal Deucalion's eyes. It was supremely stupid to risk the advantage she had gained just to show Deucalion her face. Despite the scarring and disfigurement, it could never begin to convey the suffering she'd been through for nearly a decade.

 

And what make her even think that the 'demon wolf' - a man responsible for the death and ruination of scores of packs running in the Pacific Northwest - would even care about her trials? 

 

Oh right. Derek did.

 

Derek, who claimed to care about her, yet obviously held no interest in her welfare. She thought if she could just get him to love her he might understand, or at least be willing to turn his back while she executed what was required to keep her face in tact. How naive she was to think he could ever love her. She was wrong about him having the capacity to love. It was clear to her now that Derek wasn't capable of love, not after what he did to Paige.

 

  
Her thoughts scattered like pieces of shrapnel, some hitting their target with others disintegrating into the atmosphere at an accelerated rate. Her mind teetered precariously on the edge of a steep abyss, with the swirling darkness below luring, almost goading her to plunge into its unknown depths.

 

It was tempting, the idea of letting her mind go and allowing the the lunatics to run the asylum. But each time she leaned into it, begging for the endless void to swallow her up whole, something reached out and tugged her back, mooring her to reality.

 

“Peter...” she murmured into the damp skin of his neck. “What--”

 

“Shh...” Peter's hand smoothed her hair back from her clammy face with a cool washcloth.

 

"I thought I was losing my mind...and I feel so hot..."

 

“Try not to move too much.” He dunked the washcloth into a bowl of cool water and wrung it out, before sliding it into the bend of her neck.

 

“Why?” Jennifer resisted his warning and struggled to sit up.

 

He gently pulled her back against his chest and wrapped his arms tightly around her, locking her in place. “Why is your instinct always to do the opposite of what I'm asking you to do?”

 

“Maybe I'm contrary?” She burrowed the left side of her forehead into his neck, trying to lose herself in the velvet embrace of his skin. "You smell good." She tried to sit up again to face him. She needed to see him.

 

"Whatever happened to you submitting to me?" 

 

Jennifer could hear the grin in his voice as he held her body down.

 

"Peter..." She gave up the fight and let herself enjoy the December chill on Peter's skin, willing it to transfer from his body onto hers. “I'm not a beta, and you're not an alpha yet, so this discussion is moot. I can't 'submit' right now any more than you can accept." As her gaze found him, she noticed out of the corner of her eye that his room looked as though it had been ransacked. "What happened?”

 

Peter's face brushed against hers as he pressed his cheek into her forehead. “You don't remember?”

 

She shook her head.

 

“Probably better that way.” He dropped an easy kiss on her temple and leaned back into the headboard behind them.

 

She melted into the contact as he ran the backs of his fingers up and down the crest of her cheekbone.

  


"That feels...nice. Why are you being so nice to me, Peter?"

  


"Has it ever occured to you that maybe I am nice?" He waited for a beat for her to respond but was met with silence, then continued on. "Anyway, I'm not doing anything different than what you did for me earlier today." 

  


Jennifer's nose wrinkled at his slightly-wounded tone. "I like you when you're nice. Thank you." Her eyelids fluttered, and it was then that she noticed the dried blood that caked the edges of his nail beds. “What did you do?”

 

When he didn't answer, she whipped herself around to face him, despite the ensuing vertigo. “Okay. What did I do, then?”

 

Peter reached forward and twisted a large chunk of her long hair around his hand to show it to her. What was once chocolate brown, was now a mix of salt-and-pepper. Whatever she had done was stealing the last of her looks from her. “You almost killed yourself trying to protect me.”

 

Jennifer looked around the room for the first time, and noticed the damage she'd caused. Every book in the room had been torn from its shelf and haphazardly thrown to the floor. Every sharp object not tied down, was lodged into various different places in the surrounding walls. And at the center of the room, was a large pool of blood. “Was it at least—did I at least invoke the Nemeton when I did this? Did it count as a sacrifice?”

 

She took a deep breath and held it, but the guilty look on his face told her everything she needed to know. A sick feeling in the pit of her stomach began to stir. If she had killed for the Nemeton, it would have made her stronger, not weaker, and she was anything but healthy. “Never mind. I know the answer.” Her face collapsed and she covered it with his hand.

 

“I understand your disappointment, Jennifer, but Meryl Streep never looked this distraught onscreen.” Peter's mouth broke split into a maddening smirk, and he nudged her with his arm to stop moping.

  


“So stupid!” She slammed her fists into her lap twice before Peter grabbed her arms and pinned them behind her back.

 

His eyes were wild with panic, as he bore down on her wrists. "I told you not to move unless you have to."

 

"Why?"

  


When he didn't answer, she just threw her head back and let her tears flow freely. "You're not answering because you know I can tell when you're lying. I may not be able to listen to your heartbeat, but you have other tells." Jennifer lifted a piece of her hair to look at it, then dropped it with a frown. "Just because you don't say something doesn't mean I can't tell what's going on. I'm circling the drain now, Peter. I can feel it happening."

 

Peter's grip on her wrists became more insistent. “I thought it was implied that I was the melodramatic one in this relationship.”

 

Relationship?

 

Even in their fucked up situation, with blood on the ground and the life force half-sapped from her body, hearing Peter refer to them in that way made her heart sing with happiness.

 

“Maybe we can both have a flair for the dramatic?” Jennifer let her head collapse into the crook of Peter's neck. She may as well enjoy this moment of tenderness, considering it may be one of her last.

 

"Maybe we can." He sighed heavily and pet the back of her head. “As long as you know this means we probably won't be invited out to many dinner parties.”

 

"That's probably not going to be much of an issue after today." Jennifer hid her sadness behind a soft smile. "Anyway, we're not a couple." 

 

"We could be." Her hand felt heavy when Peter lifted it to his chest. "We should be."

 

"We should?" He voice came out small and pathetic, but from the way he looked at her, she may as well have screamed 'yes'.

 

"Your health would get better if we were. Mates, I mean. You know how injured wolves heal each other?"

 

She pulled her hands free and stared him down. "They draw strength from their mates." 

  


"That's right."

  


"I'm not a wolf yet, though." That may have been the first time Jennifer ever regretted that fact. "And you don't have enough strength for both of us."

 

"Yes I do." Off Jennifer's doubting look, Peter held firm. "I'll dig deep."  He sponged the sweat from her brow with the washcloth. "It's worth a try. If you want to, that is. Don't be stupid."

 

"That was a dream proposal, Peter. Really." Something about the way he smelled seemed different to her than before – better – and she couldn't resist nosing a path down the column of his neck and unconsciously sinking her teeth into the thick cord of tendon there to steal a taste. "I'll do it."

 

Peter's body went rigid with the bite. “You know what you're saying, right? What you're agreeing to?”

 

“I do.” Jennifer soothed the bite mark with her tongue and he groaned.

 

"It may not work." She could tell by the rise of Peter's chest that he was holding his breath. He grasped her head on either side and forced her to look at him. “And this is permanent. Wolves mate for life.”

 

Her body flushed with heat at his words and her pulse rate picked up considerably. “You want to mate with me for life? You're sure?"

  


"You could have left me there in the snow back there, when Stiles shot me." He pressed his forehead up against hers. "I may have been out of it, but I could hear every single word of what went on in the other room. I know how hard you fought for me, Jennifer, how you never gave up. Nobody's ever--" He smiled, rather than complete his thought. "I'm sure."

 

Jennifer tried to calm down and regulate her breathing, she couldn't afford to leak any more energy. He may not want her in the way she wanted him, but it had to mean something that he cared enough to make that sacrifice for her. "Me too."

 

"Let's get this over with then, shall we?" Peter's hands closed around her face and looked into her eyes. “Claiming is a wolf thing, so it doesn't mean anything when a human does it...in the mystical realm, I mean. I have to do it to you. And it isn't pleasant, for you at least.”

 

Jennifer felt her heart stutter at Peter's flash of an impish smile. She closed her eyes, clasped her hands behind her back, and exposed the long, pale line of her neck, presenting herself to him like a sacrificial offering. “What are you waiting for, then?”

 

A guttural growl tore from his throat and he sunk his teeth into her neck. A flare of electric pain knocked the wind out of her with a gasp as he pierced through her skin. “Peter!”

 

He bore down hard, licking and sucking the side of Jennifer's neck until it was raw and dark, awash with her own blood. The dull ache pulsed at the wound site just above her collarbone, spreading the burn throughout her body like a virus, infecting everything it passed. She reminded herself to breathe.

 

It could kill her, a wolf's bite, despite his rank, but she craved it like she needed air. And as she slipped out of consciousness, the last thing she remembered was a feeling of belonging and being wanted, and Peter's voice ringing in her head as the darkness washed over her once again.

 

“Such a good girl...”

 

* * *

 

 

The next time she woke up, Jennifer was nude and pressed up against Peter's naked skin, her curves blending seamlessly into the dips and planes of his body. She didn't remember stripping off her clothes, but she wasn't complaining. She felt safe being like this, and for the first time in a decade, she wasn't scared anymore.

 

“Peter?” she asked, tracing the bridge of his nose with her finger. He was an objectively beautiful man, but something about the way he looked to her now made her palms sweat. “I feel...different.”

 

Peter pulled her closer into his embrace. “So do I.”

 

His erection was pressing into her hip bone and she wiggled against it. “We didn't have sex, did we?”

 

He rolled his eyes and fixed her with a dead-eyed stare. “I like all of my sexual partners to be participatory. Makes the whole love-making experience a whole lot more enjoyable for me.”

 

The thought of Peter having other sexual partners wrenched a threatening growl from the back of her throat, which was met with his typical baritone laughter.

 

Where the hell did that come from?

 

“It's been a while since being growled over by a woman didn't make me want to tear her throat out,” Peter mused, in a voice thick with a feeling that could have easily been either wistful or annoyed. Or both.

 

His hand snaked its way down her spine and settled in the dip of her lower back. A curious look passed over his features, and he exhaled with a slight quake.

  


She figured he might be thinking of the last time he felt this way, and her chest tightened, echoing his pain.

 

Peter's fingers pressed painfully into Jennifer's back, then drifted lower, gliding between the cheeks of her behind and gently teasing her there. She sucked in a sharp breath, nervous at the direction that things seemed to be headed.

 

“I'm going to have all of you, you know.” His voice vibrated through her with a tremor. “One day, you'll give me everything you have, you'll want me to take it.” He removed his hand from her behind, and brought two of his fingers into his mouth to wet them, then removed them with a slippery pop. “You'll beg me to take it all.”

 

Jennifer's lungs were suddenly very heavy. “But--”

 

“I'm going to make you feel good,” Peter purred into the shell of her ear, then replaced his fingers where they were before, hovering next to her rear entrance. “Do you trust me?”

 

She took a shaky breath and nodded.

 

“Good girl.” He hummed into her neck, laving at the mark he'd left there.

 

The praise made her feel bold and she inched back onto one of his wet fingers, despite the momentary discomfort.

 

Peter smiled into his claiming bruise, sparking a heat that spread across her skin like a bad sunburn.

 

“Why do I feel so warm?”

 

He ignored Jennifer's question and pushed his finger all the way into her, down to the knuckle. Her back arched with the slow burn as he twisted it inside of her, intruding her in a way she'd never experienced before. “You can take it.”

  


He whipped the blanket off of them and took a long look at her as she writhed against his hand.

 

Jennifer tensed up when she noticed him leering. “Please don't look at me.”

 

“Would you rather I fuck you from behind, like a wolf?” Peter's tone was as teasing as ever, but this time it held an uncertain edge.

 

Was she so hideous now that he couldn't even face her while they had sex? "Is that how it's supposed to be, in order for us to bond?"

  


"It's whatever you want, as long as we both...enjoy ourselves." His fingers hovered over her bite mark before pulling into a fist. "Ladies choice."

  


She shook her head. "Then, I want to look at you."

 

“Good. Though I plan to have you like that one day, when I'm in my alpha form.” He violently nipped a path down the valley of her chest, followed closely by a clawed hand, which tore five angry, red trails as it passed over her skin. “You're mine now, Jennifer, and we're not going to fuck with the lights out, like we're ashamed.”

 

Looking as Peter's face, with its strong jaw, aqualine nose and those proud Hale cheekbones he shared with both Cora and Derek, Jennifer couldn't help but feel inadequate. “But, I am ashamed.”

 

He tugged firmly on one of her nipples to get her attention, forcing a yelp.

 

“Kali took everything that you loved from you, and I know exactly what that feels like. But look at me now. Look at my face, Jenny.” Her chin was gripped between masculine fingers and jerked to face him. “Kate Argent is mouldering in a grave while I have the face of a Roman god. I have what you want, and I'm going to help you get it too, but it takes discipline and sacrifice. Now, we know you can do sacrifice...” He smirked at her.

 

Jennifer's lips pulled into a knowing smile and she nodded. “I can do discipline, too.”

 

“Prove it.” Peter shoved his finger deeper into her and her mouth dropped open in surprise. His hand squeezed hard enough to bruise her cheeks as he slotted their lips together, licking into her mouth in a way that made her feel short of breath. “Hands at your sides. You're not allowed to touch me until I say you can.”

 

Submission. That was what he wanted. Jennifer figured she could do that for him - in bed at least. After having no control over himself for so many years, she could understand why he might want to control everything around him now.

  


He nipped at each of her stiff peaks twice before licking the burn away. Each bite and scrape of his beard was rewarded with a new moan that fractured her composure.

  


Through it all, Peter's slick finger dragged in and out of her at a relentless pace, igniting her insides.

 

“Peter...I need...” She ached to feel the slide of his skin under her fingertips.

 

“Not yet,” he mumbled into her bellybutton, letting his tongue dip inside for a moment, before drifting South. “I know what you need.”

 

It was already the best sex Jennifer had ever had, and she hadn't even gotten off yet.

 

Peter's tongue pushed through her dark curls and faintly circled the bundled nerves below, then sucked them into his mouth with a vacuum-like force.

 

“Shit!” Her fingers webbed out onto the sheets and scrambled for purchase. She wouldn't touch him. He ordered her not to do it and she wanted him to trust her, for their mating bond to be strong. She also wanted him to be proud of her for reasons she's rather not examine.

 

Peter hummed against her, before mouthing his way down and then plunging roughly inside of her. He thrust his tongue in as far as he could reach, while his other hand echoed the grueling pace from behind.

 

She wondered if all werewolves had bionic tongues.

 

Everything was more sensitive than it usually was, her nerve endings felt frayed like the edges of a Persian rug that tangled together every time somebody walked across it. “I -- I feel so...please. I want to touch you.”

 

“Not yet.”

 

Peter buried his face between her legs and dragged his teeth over her engorged bud.

 

Jennifer cried out in a shriek that could easily be mistaken for torture. “Please, Peter! I need to touch you.”

 

He grinned up at her with only his eyes. “Okay, you can.”

 

She reached forward and dragged him up by his hair, grappling wildly for his face, which she pulled into a sloppy wet kiss that tasted faintly of her. “Come on, don't make me wait.”

 

"Demanding little thing, aren't you?" Peter chuckled into her mouth, then lined himself up at her entrance and slowly sank into her. His eyes pinched shut as he bottomed out with a groan. “God, you're so wet, such a good girl. You look so beautiful when I'm inside of you.”

 

She bit her lip hard to keep herself from crying or saying something that might embarrass her. He couldn't know how a small off-hand phrase like that - something that men say to women every day in bed - could split her open like a chainsaw, destroying her for any other man but him. Her hips bucked into his pelvis to distract him from looking at her face, but it didn't work.

 

His hand cupped the side of her cheek and he ran his thumb lightly over her bottom lip, barely making contact. “You're different than I thought you'd be. You're more.”

 

More what?

  


Jennifer's brow furrowed, wondering what he thought she'd be like. “Wha--”

 

Peter shoved him thumb into her mouth to muffle her reply. “Stop thinking so hard.” With that, he lifted her calves to his shoulders, pulled her bottom closer and started pounding away.

 

The salty tang of Peter's thumb was heavy on her tongue, and she moaned around it, as he bent her in half and fucked the air out of her lungs. 

  


He leaned down and mouthed the claiming bite on her neck, barely breaking the suction against her skin to speak. “You're mine, Jennifer. Say it.”

 

Jennifer whimpered with her need for a release. “Yours. Yes.”

 

“Every time you look at that mark,” he said, he strokes becoming erratic, “I want you to remember that you belong to me. Every single part of you is mine.”

 

It was then, that Peter bit down hard on the mark, breaking the skin again, wresting his name from Jennifer's lips in a loud scream. Her vision whited-out, followed by a sharp stab of pleasure that overwhelmed her, tugging her under like a rip tide and pulling him quickly with her.

 

Peter licked the blood clean from the wound on her neck and rolled off of her, leaving her spent and mildly paralyzed. Her thighs ached from overuse and her behind felt raw. But it was a good pain, a very good pain. She could definitely get into discipline if this was what he had in mind.

  


Starfished across Peter's bed, Jennifer panted at the ceiling as she recovered her breath...or restarted her own heartbeat...or whatever. Either way, she was fairly certain she would need to relearn how to walk, because – holy shit—apparently, THIS was what all of the fuss was about.  


  


  
It's not that she hadn't had good sex before, but this wasn't just sex.

 

Peter's blunt nails drew circles on the outsides of her thighs as he watched her recovery with curiosity. “I thought I was going to have to call 911 there for a minute.”

 

“Ugh. Stop watching me. It's embarrassing.” Jennifer leaned her cheek into her shoulder and covered her face with her hands.

 

“I like watching you,” Peter said, in a tone that managed to be both lude and earnest at the same time. “What chef doesn't want to watch their patrons eat the food they've so skillfully prepared?”

 

“I don't even know what to do with that statement,” Jennifer snorted a laugh and dropped her hands halfway down to peek over them at him, “or you."

 

“You're resourceful.” Peter pulled her hands the rest of the way down and kissed the inside of each wrist. “I'm sure you can think of something.”

 

He was right about that. She could think of a lot of things, and she would have too, if she hadn't heard the clatter of car keys being dropped on the pavement outside of Peter's apartment building.

 

Jennifer's ears perked up. “Did you just hear that?”

 

Peter whipped around, a peculiar expression shadowing his face. "What did it sound like to you?"

 

"Car keys." Her brow creased. She wondered if the mate marking somehow heightened her senses. Peter did say it might help her get better faster. "Aren't you supposed to be the one with the supersonic hearing?"

 

Pursing his lips, he nodded his head in a slow, static rhythm, as if mid-way through buffering a complicated data file.

 

"Peter?"

 

“Get dressed and go hide in the bathroom.” He pointed toward the door without looking up.

 

"In what?" Jennifer lifted her tattered shirt, which had been discarded on the floor next to the mattress, and held it out expectantly.

 

"Ah." He leapt from the bed and tossed her one of his longer dress shirts, then pulled on a pair of jeans, forgoing the undergarments in lieu of speed. "Now go lock yourself in the bathroom."

 

"Why? Who's out there?"

 

He mocked her ignorance with one raised eyebrow. 

 

“Peter,” she hissed, coupled with an exasperated eye roll, “I meant how many. And, while I appreciate the chivalry, you aren't strong yet. You need me here to help you.”

 

“I'm good - great actually.” He ran hand over his still-bare chest and smiled, yet when he looked at her, his joy quickly fell away. “You, on the other hand, are not running on a full tank.”

 

“I can manage.”

 

Jennifer knew in her bones that she was lying, but it didn't matter. Ever since he sunk his teeth into her flesh to claim her as his mate, she'd felt almost mad with the desire to protect him.

 

"No, you can't." Peter was decidedly unimpressed. “You know I can hear when you're lying." He pointed to the bathroom as a wordless command, but she remained firm in her stance. "I bit you. You're my responsibility now, so get in the bathroom."

 

"You're my responsibility, too, so no."

 

Peter stalked across the room and swooped her up into his arms, then carried her toward the master bathroom. He knew she was too weak to fight him off, so she figured there was no point in posturing any longer. “Get into the bathroom, now. Consider it an order, if you have to.”

 

She trailed her fingers across his collarbone and sighed. “Fine, but if I hear you getting hurt, I'm coming out.”

 

“No, if you hear something happening to me, you're going to use whatever juju you have left in you to teleport the fuck out of here. Go to the Nemeton.” He pressed a soft kiss to Jennifer's lips before setting her down on her feet.

 

She couldn't love him so quickly, right? They were mates of convenience more than anything, but the idea of him walking away from her and possibly never coming back nearly overwhelmed her with sadness. "The bite...is that why I'm feeling so--?"

 

Peter backed her up against the bathroom door and pressed himself into her, filling every negative space between them with a part of him. "Does it matter why?"

 

He buried his face into her neck for a quick sniff, then turned her by the shoulders and marched her toward the bathroom, shoving her gently through the doorway before he slammed the door behind her. “Lock it from the inside.”

 

* * *

 

 

She could hear Peter walking away, shutting the door to the bedroom as he passed through it. As he entered the living room, he began to pace, back and forth, his feet landing like canon shots against the cherry stained wood.

 

She could hear Peter's heartbeat too, strong and steady, and felt her own heart sync itself to his.

 

Something was definitely different. _She_ felt different.

 

Risking discovery, Jennifer turned on the small vanity light over the mirror to examine herself. Maybe there was something visual clue that she'd be able to go on.

 

What she saw on the mirror had her stifling a scream.

 

Whatever magic she had used earlier that ransacked Peter's bedroom, had stripped the rest of her looks. Her hair was now a stark white, and the once peaches-and-cream pallor of her skin had faded to an almost translucent, milky white. She knew she was halfway to death when Peter suggested they mate, but she had no idea that she looked even worse than she felt.

 

Peter had sex with her looking like this?

 

She didn't get it. How could he touch her when she was so unattractive? The way he called her beautiful and gazed at her as though he'd just discovered a precious gem in a pile of gravel just didn't jibe with what she looked like. Did she accidentally cast a spell on him without realizing it? Her stomach sank, along with her confidence. She just wanted a man to want her one time without her having to trick them. Was that so much to ask?

 

Confused and more than a little scared, Jennifer's heartbeat rocketed out of her chest.

 

“Relax, Jennifer, we'll have you all fixed up in no time. Trust me,” Peter assured her, in a low, assertive voice.

 

“I do trust you,” she mumbled under her breath, before realizing how impossible it was to be having this conversation with a person who was two rooms away. Was this a hallucination or some kind of bonding thing?

 

Can mates communicate with each other through walls?

 

She leaned her forehead against the mirror and shivered at the chill from the glass. Then something in the mirror caught her eye—a bloody hand print—just over the light switch on the wall behind her.

 

Jennifer turned and walked gingerly toward the hand print, looking around nervously, as though the boogie man could jump out at her at any moment. Then she reminded herself that _she_ was actually the boogie man, and her breathing relaxed.

 

But still...there was a bloody hand print, and she had a feeling she knew who it belonged to.

 

As she drew closer to the wall, she held up her own hand for comparison. The print was much smaller than her own hand, yet not as small as a child's. It had to have belonged to a woman.

 

Lydia. She was too weak to ask Peter earlier, exactly what happened before she blacked out, but it was pretty obvious what she'd done. 

 

Jennifer's eyes were immediately drawn to the shower curtain next to her, and with shaky fingers, she slowly pried the curtain open.

 

 

Lying in the tub, half submerged in an impossible amount of blood, were both Lydia and Aiden. She was bruised and battered, both hands and feet bound with rope, but otherwise the same perfect, porcelain doll she always was. 

  


Aiden, however, was not. One thin cut - from ear to ear - was the only mark on his entire body. Aiden's lifeless form was curved around Lydia, as if he were protecting her, even in death. If he weren't so pale, it would almost look as though he were sleeping.

 

And that's when Jennifer realized what had happened and something deep within her core shifted with the knowledge.

 

She closed her eyes and listened carefully, focusing hard for any signs of life. She could still hear Peter's heartbeat in the other room, and her own, now jack-hammering with the realization of what had occurred, but underneath both of those, she was able to pick up the sound of something else....something weak and slow, but very much still present. Lydia was alive.

  


Lydia was alive, and in some suspended animation state. It was definitely a thing Jennifer had done in the past, and it took a lot of energy, so she knew now what had turned her hair white. Her best guess was that she probably did it to gain a little extra leverage for when the cavalry arrived. It made sense. She could always kill Lydia later at the Nemeton if she felt like it.

  


But Aiden was dead. And that wound was definitely not her M.O. If the man had been found with a piano wire tied around his neck, or a snapped spinal cord, or with bruises blooming around a crushed trachea, it could have been her work. Even if he'd been brained by something dull and heavy or flattened by a fallen object, it would still be in the realm of her abilities. But to inflict a paper-thin cut, sliced with precision from ear to ear on a moving target? That could never have been her. The only person in that room capable of killing Aiden like that would have been Peter. And if Peter killed Aiden...

  


Peter was now an alpha.

 

 

 

 

 

Stop by and say hi on Tumblr: [Happily Shanghaied](http://happilyshaghaied.tumblr.com)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Peter does a lot of holding Jennifer down in bed
> 
> \- Rough sex
> 
> \- Some dubcon action...though it was agreed to and pre-negotiated, she's not expecting it when it happens
> 
> \- Slightly coerced ass play 
> 
> \- Scratching and biting during sex
> 
> \- Blood, lots and lots of blood
> 
> \- Bound hands and feet (and not in the sexy way)
> 
> Please let me know if I've missed any triggers that you think I need to include and I'll add them.
> 
> And don't worry Derek-lovers, he will be making an appearance very soon. Just because Scott/Stiles haven't seen him around, doesn't mean he's not watching...
> 
> Thanks for reading - if you feel like commenting, I would love to hear what you think!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Do you smell him around here? You're welcome to take a good long whiff,” Peter said, dragging out the last word as if it were a punchline to a fantastic joke. He gestured in a circle around the room, completely unperturbed.
> 
>  
> 
> “I don't.” Scott stalked into the middle of the room and leveled his eyes at the man lounging lazily in the overpriced chair. “But do you want to know what I do smell?”
> 
>  
> 
> “The scent of hospitality?” Peter shoved an empty wine glass in Scott's direction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Totally unbeta'd, so please excuse the mess!
> 
> No real triggers for this chapter, other than blood.

 

By the time Allison and Scott reached the front door of Peter's apartment, it had been left slightly ajar, and their whole mission was starting to feel less like a rescue attempt, and more like entering a well-laid trap.

 

Scott watched in awe as his ex-girlfriend muscled her way in front of him, as if she were the one with regenerative powers. His fingers reached out to touch her elbow, but he pulled back at the last moment.

 

_She's not dating you anymore, dude, just get over it._

 

Allison's eyes flicked toward Scott's as she motioned to the high powered crossbow strapped to her wrist, turned off the safety and heaved it to her shoulder.

 

“You can put the bow down, Allison and come in. I don't bite,” Peter's voice called out through the crack in the door.

 

Scott motioned to his ear and Allison rolled her eyes at her oversight. It was amusing that even now, after all she had lived through, she sometimes forgot that half the people she knew were werewolves. It wasn't even possible to plan a surprise party anymore, much less a sneak attack.

 

Scott's jaw tightened as he stepped in front of her and nudged the door open. “I beg to differ, dude.”

 

_I was kind of hoping the place would be empty so we could search it for clues, but it's probably good if Peter's here – it means I can question him about Stiles._

 

“Scott!” Peter clasped his hands as if he'd been taken by surprise. “It's been too long since I've been in the presence of one of my fellow betas. Have a seat.” With a sweeping gesture, he indicated the mid-Century leather couch next to the original Eames chaise he was reclining on.

 

Scott entered the apartment with his guard up, followed by Allison, whose scowl could wilt lettuce.

 

_Oh my God. He looks like Julius Fucking Caesar on that thing. Stiles would have a field day with this._

 

“Wine?”

 

“No offense, but we're not really here on a social call,” Scott said with an incredulous stare.

 

Peter tipped his head toward the heavens with a pouting bottom lip and sighed heavily. “They never are...” He poured himself another glass and luxuriated in the first sip. “I know sales of Merlot really took a hit after the movie 'Sideways', but I honestly think it's an underrated varietal.”

 

“Cut the crap Peter, you know why we're here.” Allison's trigger finger twitched as her eyes narrowed at him.

 

“A woman who gets right to the point. I like it!”

 

Like a good hunter, she wasn't prone to distraction when prey was in the room. Her steely gaze remained closely trained on the older man. “Great, then maybe you could do the same? For once.”

 

A maddening grin crossed Peter's lips as he turned toward Scott. “You certainly are a lucky man, Scott. She's magnificent, really. All of the fierce intensity and cunning of her Aunt Kate, yet none of the...” Peter made the universal gesture for crazy along with the noise.

 

Allison raised an amused brow. She had too much discipline to rise to the bait.

 

_If she manages not to put an arrow in him by the end of this, I will be impressed._

 

Scott shot her a supportive look and then took a few steps further into the room. “Not that this should come as a shock to you, but we're here looking for Stiles.”

 

“Stiles...” Peter swished a sip of wine around in his mouth for a moment before letting it slide down his throat. “Haven't really seen him since that night all of your parents were taken by the Darach.”

 

“I think you're lying,” Allison volunteered.

 

“Scott, listen to my heartbeat and tell her if I'm lying when I say I haven't seen Stiles anywhere around here all afternoon.”

 

Scott listened closely for a blip in Peter's rhythm, but heard nothing, but if anybody knew how to skirt the system, it would be him.

 

_Do psychos have 'tells' when their entire lives are a lie?_

 

Allison looked toward her ex, whose face pinched in concentration. “He's not lying, but he's definitely not telling the truth.”

 

Peter placed a hand over his heart. “Did I skip a beat?”

 

“No, I just know you well enough not to believe a word out of your mouth. I don't know where you've taken him, but I know you've got him.”

 

“Do you smell him around here? You're welcome to take a good long _whiff_ ,” Peter said, dragging out the last word as if it were a punchline to a fantastic joke. He gestured in a circle around the room, completely unperturbed.

 

“I don't.” Scott stalked into the middle of the room and leveled his eyes at the man lounging lazily in the overpriced chair. “But do you want to know what I do smell?”

 

“The scent of hospitality?” Peter shoved an empty wine glass in Scott's direction.

 

“No.” Scott shook his head and closed his eyes. “Ponderosa pine, gunpowder, wood smoke, magic, and...” he took an extra hard sniff and his eyes opened wider, “Mistletoe?” He was a little surprised by the last note. “I don't know why it doesn't smell like Stiles in here, but he _was_ here. I'd bet my life on it.”

 

_I know it's the Christmas season and all, but it's impossible for me not to think of Jennifer Blake's hamburger meat face whenever I smell that stuff now._

 

“Well, if he ever was, as you can clearly see, he isn't now.”

 

Scott's eyes trailed toward the bedroom door. “Who's in there, then?”

 

Peter glanced at the door and then back to Scott. “My special lady friend.”

 

“I hear two heartbeats,” Scott balked.

 

Allison's hand tightened on the release lever of her bow.

 

“I've been told I have a way with the opposite sex.” Peter finished off his glass of wine and plunked the empty vessel down on the side table. “Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some things that require my immediate attention...if you catch my drift.”

 

_No way, dude! Two chicks at once? I mean, I know Peter's got some game and all, but there is no way..._

 

Scott blanched at the memory of Peter showing up on his doorstep to take his mother out on a date.

 

Holding her weapon out in front of her, Allison aimed it directly at Peter's head. “Not so fast. I'd like to see what's behind door #2 for myself.”

 

Peter aimed a lusty smirk at her. “The more the merrier.”

 

As she started for the door, Scott put his hand up in a panic. “Wait!”

 

Allison halted on a dime and looked to Scott for an explanation.

 

“One of the heartbeats is very weak. Unless Peter's suddenly morphed into some form of incubus, somebody on the other side of that door is very injured...”

 

Peter finally rose from his chair. “Not that it's any of your business, but my special lady friends and I happen to be into bloodplay. Sometimes, we take things a little too far.”

 

_Gross._

 

Allison practically hissed her disgust.

 

“Kink-shaming is really passe, Ms. Argent,” Peter tutted. “I never judged Derek for his penchant for making time with teenagers, or your Aunt Kate for her love of BDSM and humiliation.”

 

“No. You just slit her throat.”

 

A hot jolt of rage flashed behind Peter's placid veneer before he regained control.

 

“There's always a risk when you get into the dangerous stuff.” Peter leaned forward conspiratorially. “You're the last person I should have to explain that to.” His eyes drifted toward Scott.

 

_Holy shit, Allison is going to kick the crap out of him soon, if I don't do something._

 

The last thing Scott expected to be doing was plotting ways to save Peter from Allison's wrath, but he needed the guy alive if he was going to find his best friend. “Just keep reminding yourself he's crazy, Allison...at least until we find Stiles, then you can feel free to go to town.”

 

She batted her eyes in Peter's direction as a hint of a smile ghosted her lips. “You don't have to worry about me killing Peter. I would never take that pleasure away from Lydia.”

 

A blip in Peter's heartbeat drew Scott's attention, and he filed that information away for later.

 

As Scott wandered around the room, he scented the air with a look of question darkening his features. “I know I can't smell Stiles, and I don't hear his heartbeat, but he's...he's here, Allison. I know he is.”

 

_Maybe this is part of that pack connection Derek's always talking about? Is Stiles really 'officially' pack though, being human and all?_

 

Scott hoped to God he was.

 

Peter stifled a smirk. “Is this 6th sense thing a power one obtains after becoming a true alpha?”

 

Both Allison and Scott turned sharply to look at Peter.

 

“What do you know about that?” Scott's 'alpha voice' rose from within without warning. He brought his hands down in one swift motion, unleashing a set of razor-sharp nails from his splayed fingers. “Who told you?”

 

Peter's eyes opened in shock and he swallowed thickly a few times in an obvious bid to buy himself some time. “Uh...Derek?”

 

_Damn. I sound scary. When we get Stiles back, I'm totally going to climb in his window one morning and wake him up with this voice, just to watch him have a heart attack. Maybe I'll get Isaac to film it? It'll be hilarious._

 

A sinking feeling sat in the pit of Scott's stomach as he reminded himself that they'd actually have to find Stiles first, in order for that to happen.

 

“Wrong answer,” Scott said, shutting Peter down while using his normal voice again. “Derek left town as soon as we left the distillery. Cora said you practically packed his bags for him.”

 

“How is my darling niece?” Peter asked, having regained his composure.

 

_Okay, he knows what I am clearly, so I may as well use it to my advantage. What the hell would Derek do in my shoes?_

 

Scott advanced on Peter, grabbing him by the shirt and slamming him into the nearest wall. The force of his head thwacked against the bricks sent pieces of mortar flying. “Who have you been speaking to?”

 

“Somebody's getting frisky,” Peter said with a laugh. “I've never seen you so aggressive, Scott. How does it feel to be an alpha now? Can you feel the surge of power thrumming just below your skin, coaxing your wolf to the surface with such intensity that you can barely contain the beast within? It gets even harder when your body undergoes stress – like when you're injured, or scared, or...” he glanced at Allison and pouted his lips, “aroused.”

 

Allison turned her face from the heat of Peter's glare, which seem to raise a flag in the man's brain.

 

“Uh-oh. Did I hit a nerve?” He blinked innocently in Scott's direction. “I suppose it's hard enough getting the okay to date an omega or beta werewolf from a man like Chris Argent, but an alpha? Whole different ball game, as they say.”

 

_God, I fucking hate this asswipe._

 

Unable to control his rage, Scott slammed Peter's head against the wall once more, with a sickening crack. “If you don't tell me who you've been talking to in the next five seconds, Stiles isn't the only person who's going to end up missing.”

 

“You really have come into your own, Scott.” A look of pride twinkled behind Peter's eyes, as if he'd had anything to do with Scott's ascent, other than forcing the initial bite on him. “If you must know, I killed a bottle of Crystal with Deucalion the night before before he left. I actually grew something of a close bond with the demon wolf. He's quite a cool cat, once you get to know him.”

 

“No.”

 

Peter threw his hands in the air, sighing like a disappointed grandmother.

 

“I've changed my mind about joining you in the bedroom, Peter.” Allison brushed past the men and kicked the bedroom door in with a steel-toed boot, sending it half off its hinges.

 

Scott's heart jumped into his throat at her impulsive move. Despite being able to take care of herself, she was no physical match for a werewolf, and Peter had shown himself to be extraordinarily vicious in the past when provoked.

 

"Allison!" Scott's grip on Peter loosened as he took a step in her direction, dragging peter with him by the neck.

 

“You!” Upon laying eyes on the scene inside, Allison gasped and poised her bow to shoot with a shaky hand. "What the hell have you done to her?"

 

Allison's face crumpled momentarily, before she pulled herself from the depth of her shock.

 

“Allison?” Scott approached slowly, trying hard not to startle his already distressed ex. “What's--?”

 

The moment his eyes landed on Jennifer Blake's in-tact face, everything clicked into place...until his eyes dropped to what she was holding in her arms.

 

_Fuck no._

 

“Lydia?” Scott's voice cracked, as he saw the condition she was in – pale, listless, close-to-death. He'd seen her like this once before, and Peter had been the architect of that trauma as well.

 

Without calling out a warning, Allison released an arrow at Jennifer's head, narrowly missing as the woman dodged out of the way with inhuman reflexes.

 

Allison shot again, and this time, Jennifer reached up and plucked the arrow from the air, just before it made contact.

 

Jennifer smiled at the arrowhead and tossed it into the ground, imbedding it deeply in the wood floor below. “Do it again, and next time I'll aim it at her throat.”

 

Scott reached out with his other hand and yanked Allison's arm down, then used it to pull her against his side and out of Jennifer's sight line. “You stay with him.”

 

Allison nodded and dug the tip of a wolfsbane-laced arrow into the underside of Peter's jaw, who remained preternaturally calm.

 

Scoot took a step over the threshold of Peter's bedroom and Jennifer shook her head. “That's far enough, Scott.”

 

“Ms. Blake---”

 

“I think we're probably beyond that kind of formality by now Scott, don't you?” She raised an eyebrow at him in a way that could easily be mistaken for seductive. “Call me Jennifer,” she purred.

 

Scott nodded, playing along. “Okay _Jennifer._ You need to let her go. Lydia needs medical help.”

 

Jennifer looked indifferently at the mewling form in her arms and shrugged. “Probably, but then what on Earth would I be able to use to keep you here?”

 

Visions of being chained to a bed while being ravaged by a woman with a hamburger-meat face sent a shudder through him.

 

“Why do you want to keep me here?” Scott asked, with a barely-concealed scowl.

 

Jennifer rolled her eyes and huffed. “Not for _that._ ”

 

Scott's gaze drifted toward Peter, who licked his chops with anticipation in his eyes. “I suppose you have him for that now?”

 

“That's right.” She smiled dreamily at him and hugged Lydia's barely-breathing body closer. “Who knew that true love was waiting right under my nose?”

 

Scott winced as Allison swallowed a guffaw.

 

“I wouldn't have pegged you two as a couple, but now that I see it, it makes total sense,” Allison spit out, as her face twisted into something dark and ugly that Scott had never seen before. “You're a psychotic mass-murderer, he's a psychotic mass-murderer. You came back from the dead, he came back from the dead. Oh, and of course, you've both fucked Derek – in different ways, of course. Yeah, you are a _perfect match_.”

 

_What the hell is she doing, baiting her like that? She's going to get herself killed._

 

"Trying to incite me so I'll lose my cool?" Unexpectedly, Jennifer sang out in raucous laughter. “You are a crafty little bitch, aren't you?”

 

Allison dragged Peter into sight, her arrow still edging the column of his throat. “Am I?”

 

"You have plans." Jennifer looked Peter up and down and nodded. “Okay. I see what you're after, and we can make a trade – but not the one you're probably thinking of.”

 

Allison's brow furred with confusion. “What are you suggesting?”

 

“I want you.”

 

“Me?” Allison's lips parted. “Why?”

 

_I don't know what kind of scam Allison is running right now, but this is not happening. Too risky._

 

Jennifer stroked a stiff lock of blood-soaked, strawberry-blonde hair. “You for her. Your best friend. Do we have a deal?”

 

“Yes.” Allison nodded at the same time Scott called out 'no'.

 

“No! You do _not_ have a deal, you crazy bitch.” He reached over and gripped Allison's wrist hard enough to break it. “Allison, what the hell are you doing?”

 

“Trust me,” she said, her tears welling behind closed lids.

 

“No.”

 

Allison's eyes flipped open and two tracks of tears carved their way down her cheeks. “It's the only way to save her and you know it.”

 

“Take me instead,” Scott offered, his eyes not leaving Allison's. “Please.”

 

“I already told you Scott, you're not my type.” Jennifer smirked and exchanged a look with Peter.

 

“Then what do you need her for?” Scott gestured to Allison helplessly.

 

_What are you planning?_

 

“Oh, I have plans for you, sweetheart, in due time.” Jennifer tipped her head down and brushed the hair from Lydia's pale face. “But this girl is bleeding all over our floor, and you have no idea how expensive good wood is to replace. Plus, unless she lives long enough to die at the Nemeton – which she won't - I don't really see the point in having her hang around, you know?”

 

“It will be okay.” Allison shook the remaining tears from her face and adopted a stoic mien. “You'll take Lydia to the hospital, and then you'll come back for me.”

 

“Alone,” Jennifer added, “and if you tell anybody, alert anyone to what's happening...” Her eyes toured Allison's body slowly. “There won't be much of her to come back to.”

 

“And what about him?” Scott look with derision at a still-relaxed Peter. “Who is he going to be staying with?”

 

"I don't care what you do with him,” she said, throwing Peter a dismissive look. "Allison can keep him in line with her little toy,” she suggested, looking at the crossbow.

 

_True love, my ass._

 

“Or...” Allison grabbed a handful of mountain ash from her pocket and threw it in the air, letting it fall in a perfectly-formed circle around where Peter was standing.

 

_I know everybody thinks I'm a sap when I say this, but she's amazing._

 

Jennifer's expression dropped, but she kept her cool. “Fine. Happy now, loverboy?”

 

“Not really.”

 

Scott shook his head violently, but Allison caught his chin with her free hand to steady it. “You'll come back for me. I believe in you, Scott.”

 

“I can't just leave you here...” his voice emerged from his throat out as worn as he felt. “Don't ask me to do that. I know you don't – I know things aren't the same between us as they were, but I still--”

 

“I know.” She palmed his cheek reverently. “I do too. That's how I know you'll be back. Trust me.”

 

_She still loves me?_

 

Scott nodded slowly, as through his head were encased in seawater and every movement required twice the effort to make. A dumb smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, despite their grave situation.“Okay. I trust you. I do.”

 

Jennifer groaned and shouldered half of Lydia's weight in her arms as she struggled to stand. “Tick-tock.”

 

Scott knew it wasn't the right thing to do, the noble thing, but he couldn't help the way he felt. If this was going to be the last time he saw Allison alive – and it damn well might be – he wasn't going to leave without touching her one more time.

 

He pulled Allison by her arm until he closed the distance between them, barely leaving enough room for air, and pressed his lips against hers. She immediately melted into his touch and slid her hand to grab the back of his hair to hold him in place.

 

“Go,” she whispered against his mouth, “Save Lydia.”

 

Scott dropped one last, quick kiss on her lips and rushed to the other room, scooping Lydia easily into his arms.

 

“Remember, Scott. Keep that pretty little mouth of yours shut or her lips are the first things to go.” Jennifer blew him a kiss.

 

Just as he reached the door and placed his hand on the knob, Scott turned to Allison. “I love you. I always will.”

 

She covered her mouth with her hand and stifled a cry.

 

As the heavy front door of Peter's apartment shut behind him, Scott found himself missing Derek for the first time since the older man left Beacon Hills.

 

 

 

 

Stop by and say hi on Tumblr: [Happily Shanghaied](http://happilyshaghaied.tumblr.com)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know Jennifer fics aren't too popular, so if you're reading this---THANKS!  
> I would love to know what you think :)


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You know what, dude? I don't even care how or why you showed up, I'm just really fucking glad you did.” Scott lightly shoulder checked Derek, who regarded the friendly gesture with a cautious nod of acceptance. “I think I'm in a little over my head, because I don't have the faintest idea what the hell your undead uncle and your ex have planned.”
> 
> “My what?” Derek's brows bunched more aggressively than usual between his eyes.
> 
> "Your undead uncle--” Scott spoke slowly, realizing only after that fact that he'd just dropped a nuke on Derek's brain. “I'm sor--”
> 
> "Skip to the end.” Derek's hot stare burned Scott's skin like acid.
> 
> “Jennifer is up there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Derek finally made it to the party!
> 
> Still beta-free. 
> 
> Oddly, no trigger warnings this chapter (why does this feel like bad news?)
> 
> This started as a Sterek fic and ended up being a BAMF!Scott fic with a side of pre-Sterek. Ah well, what are you gonna do?

 

“Jesus...”

 

Scott hadn't even left the lobby of the building when he heard Isaac's outburst.

 

“God, is she even conscious?” Isaac rushed to open the door for Scott, then peered over his shoulder at the injured girl. Panting hard onto the back of Scott's neck, Isaac retracted his canines, which had sprouted on panic reflex. “I could hear how weak her heartbeat sounded front out there. For a minute I thought it was Allison...”

 

Both boys let that potential nightmare sink in for a beat, unable to meet each other's gaze. Seeing the potential horror registering on Isaac's face would only make Scott feel more guilty.

 

“Where is Allison?” Isaac turned toward the front door and waited for her to emerge.

 

Scott's gut twisted for a myriad of reasons at his friend's question. “She's still up there.”

 

Isaac's eyes bulged. “You _left_ here there? Alone?”

 

“She didn't really give me any other choice.” Scott licked his lips at the memory of Allison's kiss, savoring the taste.

 

_I wonder if he can smell her on me? I really hope not. God, how can I think about crap like this right now._

 

Scott was pretty sure that thinking about his non-relationship with Allison while his best friend was who knows where and Lydia was fading in his arms like an old cell phone battery, officially made him the worst person in the universe.

 

_I am such an asshole._

 

“Well, fuck that,” Isaac put his hand on the handle of the door and pulled, “if you think for one second I'm going to leave her alone with Peter...”

 

Isaac was prone to inaction when frazzled, which is one reason he gravitated toward Scott, who had a natural ability to stay calm in the worst of times. Derek never could figure out the right thing to say to redirect the orphaned kid's diffusive energy. Screaming at him only made it worse, for obvious reasons.

 

“Isaac,” Scott said sharply, startling his friend from his emotional spiral. He immediately regretted his tone, but he didn't have time to waste with too much hand-holding. He needed to get control over his beta immediately.

 

“Look, Allison struck a deal before I could stop her – Lydia's freedom in exchange for hers – under the condition that I would come back alone to retrieve her and not contact the police or anybody else for help.”

 

Isaac's forehead pinched in contemplation. “Why wouldn't he just let Allison take Lydia to the hospital and keep you there, if that's what he's after.”

 

_He has a point._

 

Scott shrugged his shoulders. “Allison's mind was made up, and you know how she can be. Plus, there wasn't really any time to ask questions, considering Lydia's condition...which reminds me, I really need you to run her down to Dr. Deaton's, so I can go back up there.”

 

“Yeah, of course.” Isaac took Lydia's weight in his arms and cradled her head to his chest. “Did Peter have Stiles there too?”

 

“I don't know. I couldn't smell him or see him, but I could, you know, feel his presence or something.” Scott scratched his head lightly. “I'm new to this whole alpha thing, but I've been able to feel Stiles almost from the moment I turned, maybe even before.”

 

Isaac's nose wrinkled and he buried it into the crook of Lydia's neck and smelled her skin. “This isn't her blood, Scott.”

 

“I know,” Scott nodded, “pretty sure she doesn't have a cut on her.”

 

“It's not Stiles's either.”

 

They exchanged a meaningful look.

 

_I can't even think about Aiden right now. He may have turned out to be an okay guy in the end, but he's not pack. He's not my priority---not until I know Stiles, Allison and Lydia are okay, at least._

 

“So no blood means – I was wondering why you didn't want her to go to the hospital – her injuries are magic-related then, huh?” Isaac's eyes toured Lydia's face for clues to her distress.

 

Scott took a deep breath and let it out slowly before nodding. “Dark magic.”

 

“Fuck.” Isaac's eyes drifted up the side of the building to where Peter's window would be and his heartbeat sped up dramatically. “She up there, isn't she? Mrs. Blake? You left Allison up there alone with Peter and the Darach?” His eyes glowed yellow as he began to shift.

 

Scott gently grabbed the back of Isaac's neck to ground him. “Isaac, we don't have time to let ourselves think that way. Lydia needs you. Allison used the mountain ash Stiles gave her to quarantine Peter, so that should buy me a few minutes to get back up there, but I have to go.”

 

“Allison can't use mountain ash, Scott.” Isaac looked at Scott like he should know this already. “She doesn't have the – whatever Stiles has – she doesn't have that ability.”

 

Not many people did. You needed to be able to juggle thoughts like a chef cooking several dishes at once in a kitchen. There could be five things going on and they couldn't be ignored, yet they all needed to be kept compartmentalized, since magical intent had to be focused. The irony, is that what made Stiles seem incredibly unfocused at everything else in life made him a rock star when it came to shit like that. The reason most hunters couldn't do it, is because they're always thinking about the kill above everything else.

 

There's no way Allison didn't know how ineffective the mountain ash would be before she tried using it. 

 

_She lied straight to my face just to get me to leave._

 

He knew she was incapable of creating a barrier and he totally let himself believe that it had worked. Except that it _had_ worked...Peter was stuck. How was that possible?

 

“More of a reason for me to get my ass back up there then, right?” Scott turned to enter the building again.

 

“Scott!” Isaac looked up with an intense stare. “Be careful, okay? I can't lose both of you.”

 

 

“You won't.” Scott pulled a lopsided smile and prayed that his heart didn't skip a beat. “Somebody's got to stick around to beat your ass at Grand Theft Auto.”

 

_Especially since Stiles is gone._

 

Guilt tugged hard at Scott's chest, nearly dragging him under, but he couldn't spare a second to indulge the feeling, not while Allison was still up there.

 

“I'll come back as soon as I drop Lydia off,” Isaac promised. “You need backup.”

 

“Not anymore,” a familiar voice announced from behind, startling both boys.

 

 

“Oh, thank God.” Isaac's face lit up immediately at the sight of Derek leaning against the side of the building, arms folded tightly over his rib cage.

 

_Wow...prayer works._

 

“See? I'm fine. Will you get out of here now, already?” Scott gently prodded Isaac toward the parking lot.

 

“You have no idea how much you were missed, man,” Isaac called out over his shoulder, as he walked off.

 

Scott raised both eyebrows at Derek in question, and received the same look in return. “How the hell did you--”

 

“Lydia,” Derek grunted back, as if her name alone would explain everything.

 

“You heard her?” Scott squinted in disbelief. Was Derek in Beacon Hills this whole time or was this all just a strange coincidence?

 

_Stiles always says a 'coincidence' is what people tell themselves something is in order to feel better about their own ignorance. He says it sounds much better than admitting to yourself you'd been played._

 

Derek shook his head. “Didn't hear her. I...felt her...she has the kind of voice that rattles your bones.”

 

“She is pretty loud.” Scott played along with the obvious lie and smiled at Derek, who simply nodded in response. “How'd you know to come _here_ , though?”

 

Derek shifted uncomfortably on his feet and pressed his lips into a tight line, clearly unable or unwilling to answer.

 

_Okay, then._

 

“You know what, dude? I don't even care how or why you showed up, I'm just really fucking glad you did.” Scott lightly shoulder checked Derek, who regarded the friendly gesture with a cautious nod of acceptance. “I think I'm in a little over my head, because I don't have the faintest idea what the hell your undead uncle and your ex have planned.”

 

“My _what_?” Derek's brows bunched more aggressively than usual between his eyes.

 

“Your undead uncle--” Scott spoke slowly, realizing only after that fact that he'd dropped a nuke on Derek's brain. “I'm sor--”

 

“Skip to the end.” Derek's hot stare burned Scott's skin like acid.

 

“Jennifer is up there.”

 

“Not possible.” Derek kept his arms protectively over his chest and his jaw tensed. “We saw Deucalion kill her.”

 

Scott could hear Derek's heartbeat ratcheting up at the bad news, though his face remained as immobile as stone.

 

Scott lifted his shoulders in a sympathetic shrug. “Yeah, well, we also tag-teamed murdered the shit out of Peter and he spent the entire Summer in your living room, so I would take like, _everything_ that's ever happened in Beacon Hills, in the history of...ever with a grain of salt.”

 

“Okay, so the bitch is alive.” Derek scrubbed both of his hands over his face and let out a nearly inaudible groan. “Did she say what she wanted?”

 

“Not really. Lydia was injured, and she just wanted Allison to stay with her until I came back from getting Lydia help.”

 

A bitter laugh trickled out of the older man's throat. “I'll bet. I think it's safe to say she wanted to get Allison alone for a reason. Any idea why?”

 

Scott shook his head.

 

“Think hard, Scott. Why would Jennifer kidnap both Stiles and Allison?”

 

A curious look crossed Scott's face. “How do you know about Stiles?”

 

_Seriously. WTF? I heard Lydia's scream myself, and it was not specific about who was in danger of dying._

 

Derek took a threatening step forward before checking himself. “Just answer the damn question,” he said through clenched teeth. “We can play 20 questions later while we braid each other's hair.”

 

Pacing the area between them while he thought, Scott stopped suddenly and turned back toward Derek. “Stiles always says Occam's Razor is the best way to solve any mystery.”

 

“So what's the simplest answer?” Derek huffed out an impatient breath through flared nostrils. “Jennifer, and maybe Peter, kidnapped Stiles, and she now has Allison in her possession. What's the link between the two of them?”

 

“Me?”

 

Derek schooled his features to reflect the word 'duh!'

 

“And what do you have that they they don't? What do you think they might want to get from you that they can't get on their own? They've got to be using the two of them as collateral...or maybe bait?”

 

“But they already had St--” Scott's hands balled and released against the outside of his thighs. “Hey, can we please cut to the chase? I know I'm not like, your alpha or anything, so I can't make you – and I'm not trying to be a dick here – but I'm kind of not in the mood to live through the first half of an episode of Law & Order right now.”

 

_Just tell me, dickhead, and stop always trying to make everything a teaching moment!_

 

Derek blinked a blank stare at Scott and exhaled his exasperation loudly. “I honestly have no idea how you managed to stay alive this long as an omega.”

 

“People find me charming?” Frustrated, Scott threw his hands in the air. “Now, I remember why I didn't want to join your pack.”

 

Derek rolled his eyes and folded his arms again. “Scott, who else knows you're an alpha now?”

 

“Just my pack and Deaton. And you. I haven't even told my mom yet, because I didn't want her to worry about me.” He resumed pacing for a minute, and then stopped again. “Deucalion knows...and obviously Jennifer, because they were there when it happened.”

 

Derek tapped his boot against the pavement and waited for Scott to put the pieces together himself.

 

_Oh. Fuck._

 

Scott sagged on the wall next to his mentor, not even bothering to look up. “Peter's planning to kill me, isn't he?”

 

With a long shrug, Derek kept his eyes on his own feet. “That's a pretty safe bet.”

 

“But why does he need Allison and Stiles to do it?” Scott reached up and grabbed Derek's shoulder gingerly to get his attention, and felt Derek's muscles tense under his hand. “Why not just wait until I'm alone and whack me in a dark alley somewhere when I'm not expecting it?”

 

Even through Derek's peripheral vision, Scott could tell the former alpha was mocking his stupidity. “Scott, you're an alpha now – a _true_ alpha – offing you isn't exactly going to be a walk in the park for the two of them. Not with Peter being weak, and especially not if Jennifer was as close to death as we thought she was.”

 

“So what? They took the people closest to me in order to get me to play ball?” Scott asked, before angrily kicking a shallow dent in the outer wall of the building. “Why'd they let Lydia go then?”

 

“Do you give a shit about Lydia?” Derek cocked a doubtful brow.

 

Scott glared at him with affront. “Of course I do!”

 

“The same way you care about Allison and Stiles?”

 

He clearly meant it as a rhetorical question, because you didn't have to know Scott five minutes to know the answer to that.

 

“They probably wanted to get you out of there so they could overpower Allison and lock her up where ever they've got Stiles stashed.”

 

Scott huffed out a brittle laugh at his own obliviousness. “I've missed your optimism, Derek.”

 

“You're not the only one.” Derek tapped his hand in the center of his chest, surprising the hell out of Scott.

 

_Derek wants to be optimistic? This whole conversation feels too AU to be real._

 

“You know, if you'd been this analytical a few months ago, I might have actually joined your pack.”

 

Derek smiled sadly to himself. “Yeah well, getting two teenagers killed has a way of putting a person in an analytical mood.”

 

_Let's hope I'm not the next inexperienced alpha to get two teenagers killed._

 

Scott had the urge to say something comforting, but figured it would probably have the exact opposite effect he was going for, knowing how Derek could be.

 

Instead, he just sighed, gave Erica and Boyd a moment of respectful silence and then pushed on through to the planning portion of the conversation. “So, assuming you're right about all of this and Peter and Jennifer and trying to pull a Highlander on me...what happens next?”

 

“Well, Scott, 'there can only be one'...” Derek lifted his head and the corner of his mouth lifted up in an amused smile.

 

_I wonder if he's gonna be sore tomorrow from smiling – like how people who haven't worked out in a while can't walk the next day after a gym session?_

 

When Scott glanced up again Derek's smile was gone, replaced with a look of steadfast determination.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

Gazing at her own reflection in the mirror, Jennifer almost didn't recognize herself. Gone, was the sick-looking pallor and grey hair she was saddled with less than an hour ago - and in its place - a renewed vigor appeared. She wasn't yet back to her usual peaches-and-cream complexion, and her hair was still looking more salt than pepper, but she was beginning to heal.

 

_Not half bad._

 

 

With Lydia and her moaning finally out of the building, and Allison all but throwing herself on the pyre for her friend, Jennifer was starting to feel in control again. Things were decidedly going her way.

 

Scott would be back, that much was for sure - if the 'Casablanca' style goodbye he had with his girlfriend was any indication of his devotion - and when he was, they would be ready for him.

 

“What happened to you?” Allison cast a wary eye in Jennifer's direction and gestured to a lock of her own hair with her fingers.

 

“Life.”

 

Jennifer wasn't in the mood for small talk, certainly not with a hunter's daughter who had a face that could rival Helen of Troy's. Every time she looked at the girl it was like rubbing salt in her cosmic wound. Why wasn't _she_ the one with gashes across her cheekbones?

 

Allison was an Argent, and hadn't Jennifer only been trying to protect her pack from people like them? Jennifer saved Kali from Gerard Argent himself, and she had been repaid for her efforts in the cruelest way possible - yet this girl, who had murdered God knows how many of her kind - was allowed to walk the Earth looking like she'd just come off a fashion runway?

 

Jennifer felt the tips of her fingers start to tingle as the urge to rip a new set of dimples in Allison's face surged through her.

 

_All in good time._

 

Peter was crouched down, back leaning against the invisible barrier of mountain ash that surrounded him. His head was hung low as if resting, or meditating even. But there was no way he wasn't listening in.

 

Of course he was. When has he ever not? The thought was oddly comforting to her. The idea that somebody cared enough about her to listen in made her heart swell with affection.

 

“Can I ask you something?”

 

Jennifer was pulled from her thoughts by the sweet lilt of Allison's voice. For a young woman who was capable of such wanton destruction when crossed, she presented quite a contradictory picture on the surface - like a Disney princess with an Uzi hidden under her skirt “Knock yourself out.”

 

“Why him?” Allison's eyes slid with caution toward the figure huddled on the floor. “Was it always him? Was the whole thing with Derek--”

 

Jennifer bristled from the accusation. “No. What I had with Derek was real...or at least, I thought it was.” She rubbed her hand over the spot on her neck where Peter had claimed her, just hours earlier. “Peter had nothing to do with any of that. Peter was...unexpected.”

 

_He unexpectedly saved my life in every way possible._

 

“I'll bet,” Allison laughed, “How would you find the time to be out trolling for new love when you were so busy slaughtering virgins and kidnapping _my father?_ ” she hissed.

 

“Your father is a joke!” Jennifer grinned at her with a hot spite. “Deucalion was a menace. You have no idea how many packs – whole generations of families – that he destroyed. All in the name of his sick fantasy of creating a master race of werewolves. And what did your precious father do about it? Nothing.”

 

“I'm sorry...” Allison's eyes expanded, “a what?”

 

“Master race of all alphas. Your grandfather made it clear we were all headed toward a race war, and Deucalion didn't want to be caught off-guard, like he was last time.”

 

“Last time?” Allison's brow furrowed in question.

 

_Oh jeez. This poor idiot knows nothing about the people she calls family. Too bad it can't stay that way._

 

“How do you think Deucalion went blind?” Peter piped in suddenly, head still nestled between his knees. “Who do you think killed my sister?”

 

Allison's head shook wildly as she became visibly upset. “No...back then Gerard followed the code. He couldn't have – if he blinded Deucalion, then he must have done something.”

 

“And my sister? What was her crime?” Peter said with a perfect dramatic inflection. “You know, your Auntie Kate followed the code, too.”

 

“She was crazy,” Allison whispered weakly, as the reality of her family's 'noble' history was quickly revealed.

 

“Was she?” Peter tipped his head to the side in contemplation, “or was she just a zealot, following orders?”

 

Silent tears formed tracks down Allison's cheeks and her breathing became shallow. “Gerard killed Derek's mom?”

 

“Whether you can admit it to yourself or not, your pappy wanted to wipe my kind off the face of this planet. He called us an abomination. And your father knew about it.”

 

 

 

_Goddamn he's hot when he's being manipulative. Too bad he didn't get a chance to manipulate me a few more times before these turkeys showed up._

 

“No!” Allison's voice shook with rage. “My father would _never_ support something as disgusting as ethnic cleansing.”

 

“Your father?” Peter sighed, “Maybe not. But honey, do you really think your mother committed suicide?” His face managed to radiate an almost genuine-looking empathy.

 

_Okay, now this is some new information. What are you up to Peter Hale?_

 

“No.” Allison looked at him with rapt eyes, her bottom lip quivering. “Of course I don't. Did my – did my grandfather kill her, too?”

 

 

Peter shook his head.

 

“Did my f-father?” Her voice broke at the end, causing her to wince at her own weakness. “Did he?”

 

Peter shook his head again. “Your mother _did_ kill herself, Allison, because she would have rather been dead than become one of us.”

 

_Somebody had the balls to give Victoria Argent 'the bite'? Looks like poetic justice isn't just for the finales of HBO shows._

 

A sob escaped Allison's chest, and she pressed the back of her free hand against her mouth the stifle the sound. “No. No, that's not true. She wouldn't leave me alone for something as meaningless as that!”

 

“Meaningless?” Jennifer balked. “Your mother was the head of the Argent clan. Her entire life was about killing werewolves!”

 

“She was protecting people. She may have killed, but it was only with cause. She followed the code, hell, she punished other hunters when they didn't!”

 

“There's a big difference between having a code of conduct to deal with those you perceive to be monsters and accepting yourself as one of them.” Jennifer's eyes began to glow blue, and Allison backed away, confused.

 

Allison looked back and forth between Peter and Jennifer and lifted her brow. “Who?”

 

“I'd like to know that myself, maybe shake their hand,” Jennifer purred and the corners of her mouth curled up in sadistic pleasure.

 

 

Allison raised her crossbow and aimed it at Peter's head. “You didn't - you didn't turn my mother...?”  
  


Peter held his hands out, palms up, in a show of deference. “I _couldn't_ have. I was dead then, remember?”

 

The bow wavered in her hand. “Then, who?”

 

Peter's chin dipped down as he looked into her eyes. “You know the answer to that.”

 

_Oh my God. Derek turned Victoria Argent?_

 

Just as Allison's face broke, Scott bounded through the front door, red eyes flashing with unchecked fury. “Shut up, Peter! Just shut the fuck up.”

 

 

 

 

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're out there, lemme know! I'm dying to hear some feedback.  
> Thanks for reading :)


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